


Children of the Gun

by Honestmouse, i_burn_bright



Series: Sing it Out [2]
Category: Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys - My Chemical Romance (Album), My Chemical Romance
Genre: Alcoholism, Anxiety, Blood, Blood and Gore, Canon-Typical Violence, Chapter Specific Warnings, Deaths, Depression, M/M, Non binary jet star, Other, PTSD, References to Addiction, Sequel, Technically underage, The Fabulous Killjoys (Danger Days) Are Not MCR, and neither are the youngbloods, ill add more tags as I go, just based on them, mentions of relapse, non binary party poison, probably, so keep a look out for new ones, takes place directly after Graffiti, the're not fob, this ones's gonna be long
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-03
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:48:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 74,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26275915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Honestmouse/pseuds/Honestmouse, https://archiveofourown.org/users/i_burn_bright/pseuds/i_burn_bright
Summary: After finally reuniting their family, the Four find that the Underground just might be somewhere they can call home. But they're all still adjusting to their life after their defeat, and near death, inside the City a few weeks prior. They have a chance here, though. A chance to have a life that they've never thought possible.The Youngbloods are to thank for the safety that the Underground provides. But is it enough to defend against an entire City of people who want them dead?*Sequel to Graffiti On Your Grave!! This won't make any sense if you haven't read that!*
Relationships: Fun Ghoul/Party Poison (Danger Days), Jet Star/Kobra Kid (Danger Days)
Series: Sing it Out [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1909105
Comments: 168
Kudos: 60





	1. Safe in Your Arms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNINGS:  
> *some mild ptsd  
> *mild mentions of blood (but there isn't any)  
> *nudity (but it's never explicitly stated)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone!!  
> God this sequel has been on my to do list for Ages. I absolutely fell in love with this universe when I was writing the first part (which, if you haven't read that yet this will make no sense!). And I've been waiting ever since to continue that story.   
> This takes place only a few days after Graffiti left off and, I figured starting this off with some fluff would be in order. Bc if you've read anything of mine before, you know that I love angst just a little too much <3  
> Absolutely huge thank you to @i-like-to-wander-around-here for all of her help with betaing and coming up with ideas. She's the best <3  
> Okay, I hope you all enjoy!

The air is pleasantly warm, if slightly humid. There’s a quiet, rattling hum of the vent, the only sound besides Ghoul’s easy voice.

Poison has their eyes closed, their back to his chest and their head on his shoulder. He’s talking about something, how he found that book they’d been talking about forever ago. Apparently the Underground has a library too, on top of all the other insane things that they keep hidden down here. 

According to Ghoul, the person who he talked to told him that they have a bunch of old books that the City banned or had gotten rid of. Maybe later the two of them can adventure there and see if they can find something interesting.

But, for now, Poison is content to stay in this moment for as long as they can. They haven't had a bath, a real one- with warm, clean water that is full of flower scented bubbles- in a very long time. Ghoul being here with them is an added bonus, one that they’re trying to savor. 

They’ve been trying to slow down, now that the shit show of the past few weeks seems to have finally ended. There’s no real danger right now, not even the ever present cautiousness that you have to have in the desert. The Youngbloods have created something truly unique here. 

Sure, the City is just above them. It’s full of Dracs and ‘crows and a bunch of people who would be after them in a heartbeat if they knew that Poison and their crew had survived. And in the desert there’s a lot, admittedly, going on. 

Everyday Poison hears new stories of how Val Velocity and his crew have stirred up trouble in one way or another. And Poison is all for fucking up Better Living’s shit. But the part that makes them worry, that keeps them up at night sometimes, is how many people are getting hurt in the process of Val’s rebellion.

They’re not naive or short sighted enough to believe that no one died or was injured while following their lead. But they were never this reckless with it. If there was a high possibility of people getting hurt, they made sure that they made that very clear. Val, on the other hand, seems to be unaffected. Like he doesn’t care. 

So things aren’t… perfect. They worry, a lot, but this is leagues better than the stress that they’ve been under.

“Poison,” Ghoul murmurs softly, carding his fingers through their hair as he works in some conditioner. 

“Hmm…”

He giggles lightly. “You’re thinkin’ too much.”

This makes them sigh. They know they're supposed to be relaxing, savoring the time they have with Ghoul like they want to. But it’s difficult to turn their thoughts off. Because yeah, they’re safe here. Safer than they’ve ever really been. But there’s still so much going on around them that it almost feels… wrong to try and focus on something else. 

“I’m sorry…”

Ghoul leans forward and presses his lips to the top of their head, likely getting a nasty taste of the conditioner. But they appreciate the action anyway.

“You don’t gotta be sorry. Just- maybe tell me what’s on your mind? It could help?”

Their first instinct is to decline his offer and change the subject to something else. But recently they’ve been learning that sometimes, as much as it fucking sucks, not letting the shit in their head stew is actually better in the long run. 

Poison’s been talking a lot, as of late. About the past, things they never thought they’d say aloud. Things that they have spent years trying to forget. And it sucks, they can’t lie and say it doesn’t, but afterwards, seeing the understanding and support in their crew’s faces, it’s worth it. 

“Are you happy here?” 

Ghoul blows a slow exhale and though Poison hasn’t opened their eyes yet, they can see the frown curve it’s way onto his features. He’s probably scrunching up his face, trying to figure out what random path their thoughts have taken. 

“I- Yeah, Pois. ‘m happy here. I’ve got all of you guys here with me, we’re all doing better I think. An’ Girly seems happy too. She’s loving the whole, dessert every night thing. Hell, I am too.”

Poison laughs faintly. They can’t help but agree.

“Why d’ you ask?” Ghoul says gently. “Are… are you not happy here?”

But they shake their head. “No. ‘m glad we’re here. I think it’s good for us, you know? I think we needed some place like this.”

As strange as it is to be away from the desert after living there for so long, Poison has to admit that the Underground could almost feel like home too. They miss it, those long cold nights and the heat of the sun through the windshield of the ‘AM. But they can also appreciate things like warm baths with Ghoul and the fact that Jet and the Girl are putting together a puzzle that has all its pieces. It has all sorts of animals on it, weird ones that Poison doesn’t know. Sandman had patiently explained what each of them were and the Girl had been so ecstatic that he let her borrow the puzzle. 

And like, they’ve done puzzles or whatever before. But they’ve all been faded and missing pieces. Half of them were never finished because either more pieces were lost or they had to burn the cardboard for warmth.

There’s so many small luxuries here that Poison can hardly keep track of them. Like how they had cake, honest to Witch _cake_ yesterday. It was so light and sweet that it made their teeth hurt but they’d eaten two whole slices because it was so fucking _good_.

“Here,” Ghoul says, “sit up ‘s I can rinse this out.”

They begrudgingly sit up and open their eyes. They’re comfortably drowsy, lazy as Ghoul uses a cup to rinse the conditioner from their hair. Poison did the same for him just a little while ago but he’s somehow wide awake. They, on the other hand, feel like they could fall asleep any minute. 

They stare down at their hands as Ghoul fills the cup up from the spout and pours it over their head again. 

Poison’s thoughts are sorta… drifty right now. Like they are when they’re falling asleep and they just let their mind wander. All they can really think about is how nice it is to be taken care of like this. How sweet it is that Ghoul wants to do this for them. It’s not like they would have minded if he didn’t. They didn’t help him wash his hair while expecting him to return the favor. But he’s just… so sweet and caring that it takes them off guard sometimes. In moments like this, when they had sworn they couldn’t love him any more and then find themself falling even harder.

“I love you,” they say under their breath, smiling as they lay back against him.

His arms wrap loosely around their waist as he leans their heads together. 

“I love you more. But we’re startin’ to look wrinkly. We should get out soon.”

It takes them a while but eventually the two of them stumble out of the tub and stand in the foggy air of the bathroom. Poison dries off quickly but they’re shivering as they stand by the sink to brush out their hair. Ghoul ties a towel around his waist, motions that he’ll be right back, and then dashes across the hall. 

They roll their eyes fondly, wondering what on earth could be so important that he wouldn’t at least get dressed first. Not that Ghoul has ever been particularly fond of wearing clothes. 

While they wait, Poison pulls on some underwear and the loose sweatpants they’d left on the counter. Though, they have to take a moment to sit on the closed toilet when their head starts to feel light.

It’s something they hate, how they’ll be doing fine and then their body will just _have_ to remind them that they’re not a hundred percent yet. It’s annoying but the faint feeling does pass, though not completely, and before they feel strong enough to shrug on the hoodie they grabbed as well, Ghoul comes bounding back in. He’s grinning and hiding something behind his back mischievously. Curious now, because knowing him it could be literally _anything_ , Poison watches him bounce on his feet like he’s waiting on them to ask what he has.

“Okay, okay,” they laugh. “I’ll bite. What do you have behind your back?”

His smile gets even wider and he makes a show of revealing his hands. Poison stands and walks over to him, trying to figure out why he’s so giddy about the plain cardboard box he’s holding.

“A _box_?” 

He rolls his eyes at them before quickly starting to open it. “ ‘s what’s _inside_ th’ box.”

“Yeah, I _figured_ ,” they tease but hold their hands out so he can tip the contents out for them. 

A plastic container about the size of their palm as well as another small box, this time white, falls into their hands. Even more curious now, they examine the container. There’s words on the side, maybe instructions, but they’re written in another language and Poison can’t read what it says. The same goes for the white box. 

They set it on the sink and twist off the top of the container. To their surprise, there’s red… goop filled inside.

“ ‘s hair dye,” Ghoul supplies impatiently, like the Girl does sometimes when she’s made them something and they don’t guess what it is immediately.

“Oh… Ghoul- I…”

“I know thing’s ‘ve been hectic,” he explains, almost shyly. “But I just… I can sorta remember how much you hate when your roots start showin’. So I bugged Phantom into tellin’ me where they keep th’ dye ‘n shit. I even got some for me.”

At this, Ghoul looks away. There’s a nervousness in his demeanor that means he’s questioning whether he’s remembered things correctly. It’s happened a couple times before. He’ll remember something without context or only partially, and end up coming to the wrong conclusions.

But this time he’s spot on. Poison _hates_ letting their roots grow out. They honestly spend way too much on hair dye in order to keep their shade of red consistent. And so it’s incredibly fucking sweet that Ghoul not only remembered that, but that he also took the time to go and find their color and give it to them like this. 

“ ‘s perfect, Ghoulie.”

His eyes light up and he smiles almost timidly. “Yeah?”

They step forward and cup the side of his face until he lifts his eyes properly to look up at them. 

“I love it,” Poison tells him sincerely. “And I love _you_.”

They lean in and kiss him tenderly. They’re both smiling too much for it to really be much more than a peck, but it’s Ghoul so Poison still feels like there’s something fluttering in their stomach. When they pull apart much later, Poison grins and picks up the container of dye.

“Wanna help me do it now?”

“Hell yeah,” Ghoul answers excitedly, reaching to pick up the white box that’s on the counter. “ I think this ‘s th’ bleach though. Should probably do tha’ first.”

They nod and start drying their hair a little more with the towel as they sit back down on the closed toilet. They don’t exactly feel weak again, no more than normal, but they can tell that they’re getting there.

While Ghoul mixes up the bleach, they quickly pull on their hoodie.

“You cold?” he asks, glancing at them as he stirs. 

“A little.”

“Huh. I thought it was a little warm in here.” There is a pause as he inspects the bleach for any lumpy bits- this isn’t the first time he’s helped with dying their hair. “Did you talk ‘t Benz about it like we were talkin’ about?”

“No,” Poison admits. “Was gonna do that after the bath. But you’ve already mixed th’ bleach so like- I can do it tomorrow.”

Ghoul turns to them and lets them look into the bleach, setting it down on the counter after they approve of it. 

“That’s good. ‘Cause I don’t think we should be _worried_ , ‘sactly. But he might know why, you know?”

“Yeah. ‘s probably somethin’ really obvious an’ we’re just dumb.”

Ghoul gasps and puts his hand over his heart.

“You called me dumb!”

“I said th’ both of us,” Poison replies teasingly. “I mean, we kinda are.”

“Oh yeah? Name one time I’ve done something dumb.”

Poison giggles because, really? Only _one_?

“You licked the side of that vendin’ machine out in Two after Jet told you not to ‘cause, and I quote, no one can tell you what to do.”

“Well I-”

“You caught the flu two days later.”

Ghoul huffs and pouts, but he’s smiling too much to even pretend to be mad. Poison doesn't know if he remembers that, or if he just remembers enough to know that it’s probable, but the memory is honestly a happy one. They’d all been so mad at Ghoul for getting sick after but it’s quickly turned into a hilarious memory since.

“ _Fine_ ,” Ghoul drawls, still trying to act upset. “Do you want me ‘t do the honors or d’ you got it?”

They take the bleach and go over to the mirror above the sink. As they scoop up some of the mixture with their fingers, they turn back to look at Ghoul.

“Why don’ you go ‘n get your dye too, if you got it with you. We can do it together.”

Ghoul’s expression is nothing short of a kid on Christmas as he once again hurries across the hall. While he’s doing that, Poison turns back to the mirror and leans close. They can see the inch or so of dark brown hair at their roots, as well as the faded orange of their once bright red hair. They hardly ever let it get this out of hand without at least touching it up, save for those times when supplies are so tight that they can’t afford it. But they suppose having the Girl being taken and then all four of them getting shot should make up for letting their hair grow out. 

Poison lets their eyes wander a little, taking in the light bags under their eyes from the semi-often nightmares that plague them. But their eyes look the same, they think. Same soft hazel. They’re frowning slightly but what really ends up catching their attention is their scar.

It’s not like they haven't seen it. They look at it every day when they clean it and then listen to Benz prattle on about how well it’s healing whenever they have a checkup. But they never _actually_ look at it.

Maybe it’s some kind of proof of how much better they’re doing, because even staring at it like they are right now doesn’t bring back an onslaught of flashbacks from the City. All the pale, pink scaring does is make them sort of sad. Because if it was angled just a little differently, if Korse hadn’t _meant_ to miss, they wouldn’t be standing here right now.

Ghoul comes back in then, a box of his own happily clutched in his hands. It’s good to see him like this, Poison thinks. He deserves to be safe enough to enjoy simple things like dying his hair. They never realized how much they were missing from being stressed and on edge all of the time, until suddenly they had free time and the peace of mind to notice it.

“Guess wha’ color I got!” Ghoul insists, a playful smirk on his face.

Poison turns around and places their hands on their hips. They take an extra few seconds, just to watch Ghoul squirm in pent up energy.

“Green?”

“Nope!”

They raise their eyebrows. They had thought that’d been right. 

“ _Blue_?”

Ghoul absolutely beams at them and hurries to open the box to show them. “Yeah! I couldn’t believe they ‘ad it but like- I figured maybe people ‘d figure out m’ favorite color isn’t fuckin’ green ‘f I had it in my hair.”

They snort. “That’s your own fault for makin’ everything you own green.”

“It’s a pretty color!” Ghoul defends, laughing. “But ‘s not my favorite.”

Poison takes the container of his dye and sets it aside, watching as Ghoul starts to mix up the other beach. 

“Do you wan’ like- your whole head,” they ask. “Or jus’ streaks ‘r somethin’?”

Ghoul thinks on that for a second. “Streaks. ‘Cause I don’ think I’d like completely blue, ya know?”

And so they get to work. Poison lets Ghoul tell them which places he wants the blue to be and they carefully go about applying bleach to those areas. They wish they had something to like- separate the bleached hair from everything else, but the hair tie around their wrist works well enough once they’re done. 

After that Ghoul starts applying the bleach to their hair. It’s pretty obvious which color goes where so they stay quiet as he works. It’s strangely intimate, Poison thinks as Ghoul massages their scalp a little to get down into the roots. Having someone dye your hair is just… _close_. That's the only word they can think of. 

They let the bleach sit for a while, at one point having to sit in the bedroom instead when Jet needs the bathroom. He gives them a look, like he honestly doesn’t want to know what they’re up to, and tells them to have fun. It leaves them snickering to themselves because, for once, they’re not up to anything bad. 

Once the bleach is, at last, rinsed out and they're both properly partially blond, Ghoul offers to dye their hair first. So they sit on the edge of the tub while he sits on the toilet and works the red into their hair. It’s soothing and they nearly fall asleep by the time he sits back and announces he’s done. 

Poison is quick to inspect themself in the mirror, making sure Ghoul got a good coating and everything. Which he did. And it’s strange because the dye isn’t even set yet and they already feel more like themself. They’ve missed having their color be so bold, so… intense. It feels good to look like the zone rat that they are. 

“You like?” Ghoul asks quietly, coming up to stand behind them.

“I dunno…. ‘S very red.”

He rolls his eyes and they let him spin them around so they’re facing each other. His expression changes from mild amusement and shifts into something a lot softer, more genuine. 

“You’re so beautiful.”

Normally their response to that would be a, _duh_ , of course I am. But this compliment is sincere in a way that most others aren’t. They can physically see how much Ghoul loves them and they hope that their own love for him is mirrored on their own features. 

“So are you.”

His hands come up to the side of their neck, resting gently and keeping away from the sensitive scaring. They lean into his touch and smile. How did they get so lucky?

It’s several long minutes before they pull away and when they do, Ghoul’s eyes go wide. He looks afraid at first- no, terrified.

“Ghoul?”

“I- _fuck_ I’m sorry. Here, uh- don’ look. Let me get a rag and-”

They reach out and take his hands, stopping his rambling and keeping him here. He looks everywhere but their neck and all it takes is them glancing down at the bright red dye still on his hands for the pieces to connect.

“I- I didn’t mean to. I wasn’t thinking. I can wash it off and-”

“Hey,” they squeeze his hands a little. “It’s okay. Just dye.”

And, to prove their point, they guide Ghoul into turning around with them to look in the mirror. They have to admit, he was right. It does almost look like blood and the thought makes them a little sick to their stomach, but it’s nothing that overwhelms them. They’ve been working on shit like this. They know now that the best thing they can do is acknowledge what bothers them and sets off their attacks. And they know their limits a bit better too. 

Poison knows that it’s just hair dye. That Ghoul is right beside them. That they’re safe. And that’s what keeps them grounded.

“Are you okay?” they ask after Ghoul doesn’t say anything for a few minutes.

He looks lost in his own head, thinking too hard for his own good. 

“Just-” he shakes his head. “I think- I think I remember…”

“Oh, _Ghoul_.”

They step forward and wrap their arms around his waist, pulling him a little closer, offering what comfort they can. 

“I can sorta see it,” he whispers, staring off into space. “You falling.”

When he doesn’t say anything else, Poison pulls him into a hug. One of their hands goes to the back of his head while the other wraps around his back, keeping him close. They wish it was as simple as telling him that they're okay now. But it’s not. It doesn’t work that way. 

“It’s over. I’m okay,” they assure him anyway. 

An idea hits them and they pull back a little. “Here, how bout this.”

Ghoul is quiet but he lets them step back to the mirror and watches, confused, as they dunk their fingers into the tub of blue dye. Slowly, they scrape up some of the red too and mix it on their fingers until it’s a nice purple color with streaks of blue left over. They drag their fingers over where Ghoul left the red, blending the colors on their skin until it looks intentional. 

“Wha- why?”

“ ‘cos it’s both ‘f our colors all mixed up. Looks kinda cool, right?”

He nods, mouth hanging open a little.

“How does that make you look hot?” he whispers, almost to himself.

Poison laughs and glances back to themself. It does look kinda hot, they think. It’s something they’d probably do for one of Pony’s parties, not for their measly plans this evening of dinner and sleeping. But it’s exactly what they need, they think. Even if they’re going to try and take it off before bed. 

And though it makes their scar stand out, it also makes them feel even more like themself. Like the loud, brightly colored rebel that they are. They’ve sorta forgotten that recently, been too overwhelmed with everything else. But it feels good to know that that part of them is still there, waiting for when they’re ready. If they are ever ready.

That life feels impossibly far away, standing here in this bathroom with Ghoul. It feels like someone else’s life, something they’ve heard about but never lived. They’re the same person but they’re also _not_. They’ve changed. 

Maybe they’ve grown up a little, or maybe they’ve just gone a little more crazy, but even so it’s comforting to know that they’re still Party Poison.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forgot to mention in the beginning notes, the Youngbloods are gonna play a much bigger role in this one. I meant for them to last time, but I got sorta side tracked with Ghoul and Poison's arch and forgot. So don't worry, the Youngbloods are going to get the love that they deserve!
> 
> Chapter should be a weekly thing, but sometimes life will probably get in the way and it may switch to every other week.   
> So, let me know what you guys think?


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNINGS:  
> *there's a conversation in the last section that ends up talking in mild detail about laser wounds/ Poison's laser wound

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone!  
> Ah I'm so sorry this one was late! I had realized I wasn't as prepared to start this as I thought i was so I had to spend a few days sorting out my thoughts on some of the characters and deciding on some plot things. Mainly stuff revolving around the youngbloods and the underground bc I want to really let them share the limelight this go-round.   
> And so now that i've got that all sorted out and everything, chapters Should be more regular. I hope haha. Adult life is very time consuming though so I won't make any promises, but I'll try my best.  
> A very huge thank you to @i-like-to-wander-around-here for all of her help with this fic. She's been there though every aspect of me writing this and I wouldn't be able to do it without her <3  
> I hope you all enjoy!

Sandman sighs, setting down his pen with more force than necessary and scrubbing at his eyes with his fist. He’s been at this for hours, sitting here at his desk going over report after report trying to find _something_ that would clue them in about whatever the hell Better Living is up to. 

And, don’t get him wrong, his crews do a damn good job of writing shit down, but weeding through the hundreds of reports to try and figure out if the City really is backing down or is just gearing up is fucking exhausting. 

But it’s not like he can put this off. If there’s a chance that they can know what the City is planning before they do it, then that’s hundreds of lives saved. The only problem is that he’s been staring at this piece of paper for so long that his eyes are starting to cross. 

It’s late, probably closer to early at this point, but he just scrubs his eyes again and focuses on the words in front of him.

The crew who wrote this report had gone into one of the warehouses out on the edges of the City. They had had a grocery list of sorts, random things that the Underground needed. Everything on that list had been checked off and the run was a smooth one. But he can’t help but get caught up on one line of the report.

“None of the locks were on so we just walked right in.”

Either whoever’s job it was to keep those doors locked had a _very_ bad day the next morning, or, even worse, the City knew they were going to hit that exact warehouse on that night and left it open for them. The second option is a chilling one but Sandman simply doesn't have enough information to raise the alarm just yet. Because if the City knew they were coming, why let them get the supplies at all? Why not just ambush them and be done with it?

One out of eight crews that Sandman sends out get caught by Dracs, interactions that usually end in claps and lengthy reports. Even fewer, less than one in a hundred, get captured. But when he’s sending out two or three crews a night, that 99.9% of clean getaways feels like it’s getting smaller.

He could probably bug Stakes into showing him the actual math but the possibility of it being less than that is enough to keep him in his chair. The people down here know the risks, it’s kinda hard not to, but the thought of them being in even more danger than usual still leaves a bad taste in his mouth.

A knock at the door makes him look up. Phantom walks in, his guitar case slung over his shoulder and an easy smile on his face. Though, the smile drops when he notices that Sandman is still working. 

“Dude.”

Sandman sighs and holds up his hand. He really doesn’t want to be told to go to bed like a kid right now. Even if that’s an often occurrence because he is dumb and gets sidetracked easily. 

“I was gonna ask if you wanted to come,” Phantom says, rather than telling him to go to bed. “Me ‘n Stakes are gonna play something. Not a big crowd.”

He debates this for a moment. On one hand, he loves watching the two of them play. They’re some of the best musicians out there- not that there’s that many left- and their little impromptu shows normally turn a decent crowd if they announce it beforehand. 

However, on the other hand he _needs_ to figure out this report. Getting distracted by this would only set him back, only make the risk of him missing something even greater.

“How long have you been at that?” Phantom prompts, gesturing to the mountain of papers on his desk. 

He shrugs. “Few hours?”

“It’s been more like seven or eight. So, either you come and relax with us, or I’m sending you to Benz so he can properly knock you out.”

Sandman frowns. He knows that’s not an idle threat, Phantom can, and has literally carried him to Benz’s office. And Benz will chastise him like a child and then proceed to give him something that’ll make him sleep all night. It’s appreciated, he can’t say that it isn’t. Sometimes he needs that, someone to knock some sense into him before he falls asleep at his desk and like- jabs his eye out with the pen or something. 

So he sighs and lifts his hands in defeat. “Fine. I’ll watch you guys play. Benz’s stressed enough as it is.”

“Agreed.”

Phantom leaves to go set up, giving him the time to stand up and stretch out the ache that’s settled in his joints from sitting for so long. He even goes as far as changing into a new shirt after he finds a coffee stain that he honest to god, doesn’t know if it was from yesterday or the day before. Once he feels presentable, Sandman shuts off the lamp and, after taking one final long look at the papers haphazardly scattered across his desk, leaves to go find Phantom and Stakes.

It doesn’t take long, finding them. Even though there are a lot of little common rooms scattered around down here, the four of them usually like to frequent the less popular ones. Don’t get him wrong, he loves interacting and talking to the people who live here, but sometimes a little quiet is appreciated.

He finds the two of them tucked away in the very last common room, at the last row of personal rooms. This is actually the one closest to the Four’s rooms and so Sandman isn’t surprised to find Jet Star and Fun Ghoul sitting inside. 

Jet is leaning over Stake’s guitar, looking serious yet excited as he asks question after question. Ghoul’s more quiet, but appears no less enthusiastic about the instruments. Sandman feels an ache in his chest at the realization that this may be the first time either of them have seen one in person.

But he pushes that aside because it’s clear that they’re enjoying themselves right now. And who better to watch play than Stakes and Phantom?

There’s only a couple of other people in the room, both of which Sandman recognizes. The older woman who’s been down here probably longer than the City’s been around, Gretchen, waves at him and motions for him to sit beside her. He does so gladly.

She gives him a warm smile, the kind that makes him feel like a little kid again. 

“Good to see you out of your room.”

He rolls his eyes. “I could say the same to you.”

“Now is that anyway to talk to someone who’s your elder?”

Getchen’s tone is biting but her eyes sparkle with amusement. But that doesn’t mean Sandman doesn’t apologize anyway.

“Sorry.”

Now it’s her turn to roll her eyes. “You say that too much.”

“Sorry?”

Gretchen sighs. “You’re hopeless.”

Sandman just laughs and glances over to where Jet and Ghoul are still bombarding Stakes with questions. The smile remains on his face as he watches Stakes just as enthusiastically explain whatever random thing the other two wanted to know. 

“Those kids,” Gretchen starts, gesturing to Ghoul and Jet. “They’re not from the City.”

At this, Sandman winces and tries, desperately, to summon the ability to lie to Gretchen. But he’s never been able to and he sure as hell won’t be able to start now. He trusts her though, with his life. She knows a lot about him, about his crew. Things like City names and the things from their pasts that they don’t like to remember.

So then it comes to no surprise that he answers her truthfully.

“They’re not.”

“Suppose you can’t tell me where though, can you?”

“No,” he sighs. “I- their safety revolves around no one knowing who they are, where they’re from, or that they’re here. I can’t risk that.”

Her eyebrows raise. “Special kids, huh?”

“You have no idea.”

Gretchen’s eyes sparkle again and Sandman wonders if she already knew the answers to her questions but was waiting to see what he could tell her. 

“Well,” she says slowly, casting a glance to Jet and Ghoul. “They seem to be happy. They’re certainly doing better than they were when they first got here.”

“Wait, you-”

“Yes I noticed that the four of you managed to sneak in four very injured kids at ass o’clock in the morning. And that security was upped instantly. Honestly, Sandman, what do you think I do all day?”

With nothing else to do, he laughs. “I dunno. I thought we’d kept them a better secret than that.”

“You have. People’ve noticed that they’re here, they do kinda stand out.’Specially all the attention you four’ve been giving them. But it’s nothing but curiosity.”

“That’s good,” he says, more than relieved.

“Though, that’s not to say I don’t have my own suspicions as to who those kids are. Why they’re here.”

“If I could tell you-”

She shakes her head. “I know you can’t. And I’m not asking you to. All I’m saying is that if you need me, I’m here to help.”

“Thank you, Gretch. Let's hope I never have to take you up on that.”

_____________________

“Are you gonna play somethin’?” Ghoul inquiries brightly.

Stakes just chuckles and, after a moment of hesitation, lifts his guitar and places it in Ghoul’s arms. He fumbles trying to figure out how to hold it and it’s a little awkward with his right shoulder, but he manages to hold it after a little trial and error. His knee is bouncing, but from excitement or nerves, Stakes can’t tell.

Jet sort of hovers behind him, though he doesn't look jealous. He seems just as, if not more, interested in the guitar than Ghoul. 

“Yeah,” Stakes says lightly. “There ya go. You’re holdin’ it like a natural.”

Ghoul, of course, is not holding it like a natural. But he makes up for it in enthusiasm so Stakes doesn’t have the heart to critique him on what is likely his first time holding a guitar. 

“Can you show me how ‘t play?” 

It's in moments like this where Stakes feels bombarded with how young these kids are. Ghoul is looking up at him like he’s- he’s his _parent_ or something. And that stings, a lot. But more so it makes him want to forget about the little show they were planning tonight and spend hours teaching Ghoul how to play.

He of course, can’t do that. As much as his heart feels for these kids, they’re clearly a lot tougher than he had first thought. He can’t go around all day pitying them, they don’t need or deserve that. Even so, he still makes a mental note to set some time aside to give Jet and Ghoul a proper music lesson. 

When he holds his hand out, Ghoul reluctantly passes the guitar back to him. He looks so sad that Stakes gives him a half smile to try and make up for it.

“Wanna hear a couple songs?” Phantom asks as he slings his strap over his shoulder.

“ _Duh_.” Ghoul says, the same time Jet replies with an earnest, “Fuck yeah.”

Stakes glances around the room as he and Phantom make their way towards the corner in the back. A few more people have filed in while they were talking with Ghoul and Jet. He spots Sandman sitting beside Gretchen, talking quietly. She waves when Stakes moves to stand beside her.

There are also a few people sitting on the chairs placed around the room. Stakes recognizes their faces but doesn’t know many by name. Though, he does spot Hazel Storm among the small crowd. They give him a wave too, blowing a kiss that he pretends to catch. 

Phantom gives him a nudge with his elbow, winking when Stakes glares up at him. He just rolls his eyes. He doesn’t feel like having this argument today.

So, instead he sets his mind onto playing. They don’t get to practice as often as he’d like but everything feels as if it falls into place once he and Phantom start the first few chords. He’s sort of swaying along to the rhythm, eyes closed and his fingers moving of their own accord. It’s a slower song, even for them, but it’s one that he and Phantom wrote together ages ago. It’s one of his favorites and he’s already smiling when Phantom starts singing. 

The few songs they have planned pass by quickly after that, lost in a blur of music and the sound of his best friend’s voice. 

_____________________

Benz watches, amused, as Poison kicks their feet against the edge of the table. 

They’ve been pretty quiet throughout their checkup today, though not to the point where he worries they’re uncomfortable. They’ve answered all of his questions and, as far as he can tell, they’re healing very nicely. 

But, it’s obvious there’s something on their mind today so he tries to work quickly. 

Humming to himself, he stirs the small, plastic container for a second or two longer before scooping some of the contents out. He turns to Poison and shows them his hand. By now they know what it is and, while they do stiffen, lift their chin for him to spread the cream along their scaring. 

It doesn’t do much, but it’s antibacterial and helps the scar tissue heal more quickly. Taking in account how little he can actually do to further their recovery, this feels all the more important. He’s concentrating on gently rubbing it in when Poison shifts and says something under their breath. 

It’s so quiet that he doesn’t hear it, even with him leaning over them like this, so he asks them to repeat themself. 

“Can I ask you somethin’?” they murmur, avoiding his eyes when he tries to look at them.

Benz nods and stands back up, washing his hands and putting away the container to give Poison the time they need. It’s another minute and a half before they speak up.

“How long will it be ‘ntil I’m healed?”

He turns around, shoving his hands into his lab coat pockets and fiddling with a pen inside as he thinks. 

“Well, you’ve already come pretty far. Most of the healing that you have left to do is the scarring and your voice. Both of which are doing very well. So I’d say you’re almost to the light at the end of the tunnel.”

He expects Poison to be happy with those words, relieved that they’re nearly done with this whole ordeal, but instead they just look more pensive. Like there’s something more on their mind. 

Benz steps forward a little more and sits down in one of his rolling stools. He gives Poison a quick once over, worried that perhaps he’s missed something. Could another aspect of their recovery be bothering them and they just haven't said anything? 

He can't think of much that would still be present after this much time has passed. Maybe some soreness to their throat, sleeping issues perhaps from the anesthetic he had to give them.

“Is something else bothering you?” he asks carefully.

Poison won’t look at him but it’s not in the defying way they do whenever they’re playing the part of the rebel leader. This is different. Like they're afraid and aren’t quiet letting it show, but aren’t shoving it down under the disguise of something else either.

“Kinda?” they reply cryptically.

Benz takes a deep breath. He doesn’t have a lot of experience with teenagers, or with kids in general, but he’s found that not getting upset over how they word things is important. They often don’t mean it as cruel or uncaring as it comes out. So Poison sounds disinterested and shut off, but really Benz has the sneaking suspicion that they’re actually just concerned about whatever is bothering them. Maybe even scared to bring it up. 

And Benz is, above all, a doctor. It’s his job, his passion, to make sure that the people he’s looking after know that they can trust him with not only their health, but their concerns as well. 

“Is it something new then?” Benz tries, gesturing with his hand as he thinks. “Something that’s come up after you’ve started to get better.”

Poison shakes their head.

“Something that’s been there?”

“Yeah,” They reply, very quietly.

“Okay. Can you tell me about it? Just so I can figure out how to help?”

They kick their feet again, a hurried taptaptap that stutters almost like a train of thought. 

“I’ve been havin’ these- like dizzy spells,” Poison begins abruptly. “Like. I’ll be okay, just walkin’ or somethin’ an’ then I’ll have ‘t sit down. Sometimes it happens just from standing.” Benz frowns and motions for them to go on. 

“It’s like- it’s weird, right? Cos I’m not really dizzy, ‘sactly. I jus’ get light headed and I feel really weak.”

“Have you fallen because of one of these spells?” Benz cuts in, worried.

But Poison shakes their head. “No. They usually pass if I sit down, ‘n so far I’ve done that b’fore I fall. But um- one time Ghoul had ‘t catch me ‘cause I did pass out a little.”

“When did that happen?”

Poison looks back down and thinks for a second. Benz does his best to not rush them. It’s not like he’s afraid that they’re not recovering, he watched them walk into his office and they appeared just fine. They wouldn’t be able to hide not feeling well, at least not completely. So more likely, this is something that he’s overlooked or hasn’t thought of. 

He knows for a fact that he did the absolute best that he could for them that first night. He’d shifted into what he likes to call auto-pilot, where he doesn’t think about what he’s doing. He simply does things meticulously and with absolute precision. It’s one of the reasons Better Living wanted him to be under their thumb so badly. He’s a damn good doctor because when he’s under stress, the anxious part of him shuts down and lets his instincts and knowledge work instead. 

When he was operating on Poison and fixing up the others, that’s what happened. So he did things exactly to the textbooks he has memorized. There is hardly any room for error in that case and, if he had fucked something up, the problem would have made itself known by now.

“Th’ other day. I was walkin’ with Ghoul ‘n I guess I did too much or- like I should have taken a break because suddenly my ears were ringing and I couldn’t keep upright.”

Benz frowns and spins around in his chair to face the desk next to him. He flips through Poison’s file, even though he knows it by heart. Something has bound to be causing this but, as far as he knows any symptoms leftover should have faded by now. 

“When was your most recent spell?” he asks without looking up.

“Um. Last night, this morning.”

Interesting. And if it had happened only a few hours before now and Poison is, as far as Benz can tell, healthy, the weakness and dizzy feeling aren’t lasting very long. He turns back around to Poison, squinting down at their file as an idea forms. 

“How long do these last?”

“A few minutes I guess? Long enough for me to need t’ sit down. But after a bit ‘m fine and ‘s long as I don’t try too much directly after they don’t happen again for a while.”

Benz nods, though he hardly registers it. His thoughts are slowly forming into a possible explanation, narrowing things down and trying to see which is the most probable. 

It seems he has missed something very obvious.

“I think I have an idea as to what may be causing your dizzy spells.” Poison sits up a little straighter, already looking relieved. “Yeah?”

“It’s easier if I give a little background, is that okay? It’s about your laser wound,” he asks carefully. He doesn’t want to release a flashback.

But Poison seems determined. “Tha’s okay. Hit me.”

“Okay. So when you were shot, rather than going through your brainstem and killing you instantly, it went sorta sideways. This means that it hit part of your jaw bone and skull, which made it sorta… bounce around a bit.” Poison nods, seeing as this is something Benz has already sort of explained to them. “Well, because of that, the blast lost some of the heat that it carries. The initial impact point of a laser blast is almost always cauterized instantly while the outer areas are heavily damaged, but are left open wounds that bleed profusely. This is what happened with you. Because of the point blank range, it did cauterize at first but due to how it then ricocheted it caused the bleeding to begin anyway.”

When Benz pauses, not wanting to overwhelm Poison with both the past, or all of the information, he is mildly surprised to find them listening intently. They don’t look horrified or overwhelmed, but their right hand is ghosting over the scar covering the underside of their neck and chin. 

The blast had taken a huge chunk out of the area and it is, honestly, a miracle that they not only survived long enough for Benz to help them, but that they’re able to even speak and breathe properly afterwards. They’ve been extremely lucky.

“So,” They begin slowly. “Basic’ly you’re sayin’ I bled a lot.”

Benz can't help but laugh. “Yeah. A lot. So much so that I had to give you a transfusion before I could even perform the surgery to fix you up. In ideal circumstances you would have received at least two more after that. However, and this comes into explaining your dizzy spells, we simply don’t have the supplies to give three transfusions of the same blood type in one day. Or well- it wouldn’t all be the same day because there’s a period in between where we let your body get used to the new blood. But- you get what I mean.”

“Did you ‘av ‘t give Kobra one too?”

Caught off guard by this, Benz stutters a bit before he can answer. “No- I mean. If he had needed one as well, I would have. But, while he did lose a good amount, he wasn’t in the danger zone. I kept an eye on him just to be safe though. Why do you ask?”

“We’re th’ same type so I- um…”

“You were worried that he went without because you needed one?”

Poison winces but doesn’t deny it. Benz smiles gently. “Don’t worry. He didn’t go without. His wounds were mostly cauterized so our main concern was infection.”

“Okay.”

It almost sounds like a thank you and Benz can hear the sincerity in their tone even if their words don’t express it. So he continues back where he left off. 

“So, since you only received one transfusion, your body is having to make the blood to replenish what you’ve lost. Have you heard of anemia?”

“Kinda? ‘Sn’t that when ya don’t eat right ‘n you pass out all th’ time?”

“Sort of. Basically it means your body is low on iron for one reason or another. Our blood is rich in iron and so, when you lose a lot and it isn’t replenished by something like a transfusion, you experience symptoms similar to anemia.”

“How do I make them stop?”

Benz smiles despite himself, finding the annoyance in Poison's voice amusing. He gets it. The symptoms are probably more annoying than anything else by now, especially since they’ve made it so far in their recovery. 

“Well, you have a couple options. One is to just wait them out. As your body replenishes your blood supply, the symptoms should fade away. Another option is iron supplements. Which we do thankfully have here. You'd only need to take a few a day and balance that out with small changes in your diet.”

Poison makes a face at the mention of pills and, truthfully, Benz can’t blame them. He hasn’t struggled with that type of thing nearly as much as Sandman has. He didn’t _want_ to be on them in the first place. The second he figured out that he was detoxing because he had forgotten them he knew that he would never touch the mind altering ones again. But for someone like Poison, like Sandman, who were forcefully given the drugs, taking any form of pill or drug is a struggle. 

Benz doesn’t know a lot about what Poison went though, but they’ve told him a little. Just enough to see if he knew anything to help them. Most of what he could say at the time was breathing techniques and how to tell if what they were seeing was a flashback or was real. But he gets the main idea. They were drafted unwillingly into S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W, forcibly drugged and Lord knows what else was done to them. 

So he wouldn’t be surprised if they decide to just wait this out. Though he does have to warn them,

“I will say, you do have a chance of developing anemia if you decide to withhold from taking the supplements. And then you’ll have to watch what you’re eating to make sure you keep your iron high enough to prevent the spells. But I can assure you that it is manageable and there’s a lot of people who live with the condition.”

Poison is quiet for a long time after that. The silence of the examination room is loud but Benz tries to keep himself busy by writing-in today’s notes in Poison’s file. It’s not like he’d forget it later but it does give him something to do.

“The- the supplements ‘r whatever,” Poison begins quietly. “What’s in them?”

Benz gives them a reassuring smile and goes over to the cabinet by his desk. He keeps the supplies he uses most often in here, for moments like this where someone has a question or he needs to use them without having to walk all the way down to the storage room.

He hands Poison the bottle and lets them read the label. 

“There are no addictive drugs in it. There’s no drugs in it at all, actually. Just the vitamin. All you have to do is take one right before breakfast and that’s it.”

They take the time to study the bottle in their hand, turning it over and reading the label a couple of times. He can practically see the gears turning in their head, can hear them weighting out their options. And, at last, when they look back up there’s no more hesitation.

He’s seen flashes before, of the fearless, strong leader that he knows them to be. But up until now it’s been buried under the anxiety and fear of these past few weeks. It’s only been in flashes.

But right now, Poison’s eyes seem to shine. There’s so many emotions that Benz can’t really name them all, but he recognizes stubbornness and determination. 

“One a day?” Poison asks, carefully keeping their voice neutral.

Benz nods. “Yep. And we can figure out how much they’re helping when you come in in a week or so.”

“Am I free to go?”

He can’t help the chuckle that forms from that, but he can tell Poison is more than ready to leave. “Of course. You can take that bottle with you. Just remember, one a day right before you have breakfast.”

“Gotcha!” they exclaim, hoping down from the table and shoving the bottle into the pocket of their hoodie. “Thank’s Benz!”

He waves as they leave, a smile on his face. 

He never really worked with kids before, at least not with them conscious. As far as he can remember, he operated on a couple of kids before. But the details are blurry and he’s certain none of them would have amounted to anything close to dealing with the Four.

Don’t get him wrong, the Four are growing on him. For all of their rough edges and distrust of him at first, he’s quickly realizing that they’re good kids. Watching them run around the Underground, experiencing all of the luxuries that Benz has honestly been taking for granted, it sorta opened his eyes.

He thought he understood the desert rebels, at least from an objective standpoint. They were cold and harsh because that’s the way they had to live. I mean, sleeping outside in a desert that’s full of ‘crows and various animals that want to kill you (not to mention the deadly sun), it’s more than enough to harden someone. Especially kids. And he can see that in Jet especially. How he just holds himself differently. 

He’s more confident but also vigilant, always aware of his surroundings. While someone like Poison isn’t as… sure about it. They’re just as cautious, but it holds a more anxious edge to it. 

The thing is though, he had thought that was all there was to the desert rebels. The survival skills that they had to adapt if they wanted to make it out there. But then there’s moments where he watches the Four play with the Girl. Where they all just run around and laugh unashamedly, without worrying about making too much noise or acting their ages. It’s more innocent than anything else. How they’re not afraid to have fun, to play together. 

And maybe, maybe that’s what makes them so important. What enables them to do what they do.

Benz is almost certain that at their age, he wouldn’t have been able to fight half as hard. He’d been complacent, easy for Better Living to control. He was only drugged when he showed that first glimpse of free thinking, when he refused their “generous offer”. But choosing between becoming a ‘crow or an exterminator didn’t feel generous, even then. It’d been terrifying and it was the first moment he remembers questioning the society he had been taught was perfect.

It took an accident for him to get off the pills, to realize he’d lost years of his life to them. But in the process he’d met Sandman, formed one of the strongest friendships he’s ever had. And so maybe he and Poison aren’t that different. They’re all rebels after all, in one way or another.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, I can start sprinkling in stuff about the youngbloods' past because I have actually come up with their backstories haha.   
> We'll learn a lot more about them soon, I promise ;)
> 
> also, all the information on anemia and blood loss and stuff came from a few hours of me researching online and a few people on tumblr answering my questions. I think (?) it should be fairly accurate but if you spot anything that i've messed up please feel free to let me know <3
> 
> and, finally, I'm never quite sure what to put for trigger warnings. I do the main things like blood/ gore and stuff like panic attacks I would obviously tag. But I'm sort of, not sure what would need to be tagged in other situations. Like this chapter just talks about it, there's no actual blood or anything. So does that still count as graphic? i dunno.   
> So, if at anytime you need me to add something to the list of things that I tag before the chapter starts, please feel free to reach out and let me know. If you don't feel comfortable commenting it on Ao3, my tumblr is always open @honestmouse20. 
> 
> Okay, thank you all for reading! Let me know what you think?


	3. Cause You Stop the Noise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNINGS:  
> * PTSD stuff revolving around nightmares  
> *violence and suspense

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!  
> gah I am so sorry this is late! I think I am going to have to make this every other week updates bc I don't have enough time ti make it once a week. I"m really sorry!  
> but yeah, this one is longer than normal to hopefully make up for it haha.  
> A very huge thank you to both @i-like-to-wander-around-here for her help with this fic. She really helped me get this one in order bc it was a Mess.  
> Also! I want to thank @Clocks-are-our-friends for their help with coming up with tons of fun headcannons about the youngbloods! The fidget toy idea was theirs!  
> Okay, I hope you all enjoy!

It’s an easy, lazy sort of morning today. One where Poison has yet to summon the energy it will take to roll out of bed, despite the fact that they’ve been laying here for a few hours by now. But that’s alright. 

Ghoul’s dozing beside them, his head tucked into their shoulder. They can hear the soft sound of his breaths, can feel the weight of his arm around their middle. They’re in no rush to start the day.

For once though, they do actually have plans. So they will have to get moving eventually. But, for now, they will gladly just lay here. 

But they’re not dozing off like Ghoul, no, their mind is occupied with going over their plans for the day. You see, it’s about the right time for them to celebrate Ghoul’s birthday.

They usually do so about a month after they celebrate Jet’s, or as close as they can get with the shitty way they manage to keep time back home. But here, Poison knows that it’s been at least a month since they arrived at the Underground, and a few weeks before that they had a small celebration for Jet. 

So they’re looking forward to surprising Ghoul today. The others are in on it too, even Girly. 

Poison is excited, even if their present to him could hardly be considered a present. But they’re not good with tools and electronics like their brother, can’t build Ghoul some weird little gadget just for this occasion. And while Jet wouldn't tell them what he and the Girl have made either, Poison knows for a fact that it’s going to be very special. Their gifts are usually less physical ones and more of the thought that goes behind it. Like last year, for example. Ghoul had been frustrated- a combination of not being able to speak properly while his mouth healed and embarrassment for getting injured like he did. So Jet had gone out and found these weird little like- sacks of paint. Poison had never even _heard_ of the things. But apparently they were made to be thrown at canvases by super rich people in the City. Poison doesn’t want to know how Jet got his hands on them, but the look on Ghoul’s face when he started chucking the things at the side of the dinner was priceless. And the splatter of color on the brick makes a nice addition to the already neon-coated building. 

So yeah. Poison doesn't know if their gift will hold up to anything that the others do. But they don’t want to put off celebrating any longer, especially since he’s already had to wait longer than usual. 

They open their eyes with a quiet sigh. Ghoul shifts and his arm moves up until it’s wrapped around their chest. It brings a smile to their face and they lean down to kiss the top of his head.

He makes a quiet, happy sound and opens his eyes. They're hazy with lingering sleep but the love filling them is something Poison can’t miss.

Truthfully, they can’t believe they got him back. Not that he was ever really gone but those weeks of Ghoul not knowing who they were, of not remembering that they’re in love, it hurt. Hell, hurt doesn’t even begin to cover the way it felt, like someone was crushing their chest every time he looked at them like a stranger. And they fucked up, Poison knows that they did. They should have told him sooner. 

They should have carefully explained who they were and how they were together, and then given him the time he needed. But they’re stupid, and they panicked and it only made things worse. 

Poison is so, so fucking lucky that they manged to save this. 

“What’re you thinkin’?” Ghoul asks, voice rough with sleep. “ ‘an don’ lie, ‘cause I can see it’s botherin’ you.”

Well shit. They consider lying anyway but they already know that Ghoul will see right through it.

“I got lucky.”

Ghoul frowns, just a little. He blinks slowly and for a moment Poison gets lost in how beautiful he is like this. Groggy and slow with the morning, his eyes barely open and his hair fanning the pillow and their shirt. 

The blue looks good in his hair, they think. It suits him. Though they doubt there’s much he could do that would make him unattractive. It’s mostly just the fact that it’s _him_ that makes this pleasant little flutter in their stomach. They love him. A lot. 

“What ‘d you mean?” He questions, waking up a bit more.

“I just…”

Poison raises their arm and tugs their fingers through their hair, trying to find the right words to describe the mess in their head right now. They didn’t want this to be the start of today but if they can say the right thing, and make Ghoul not worry, then they can jump right on track into the fun birthday things they have planned.

“I’m just really glad you remember, ‘s all. Kinda took me by surprise.”

Ghoul’s expression turns unreadable and he props himself up on his elbow before speaking. “Did you expect me not to?” He asks slowly. 

“Yeah… I mean. Like, there was a point there where it felt like you remembered everythin’ but me.”

Something like realization dawns on Ghoul’s face, making his eyes grow sad. 

“And I know you said tha’ it wasn’t my fault but like- if I’d just _told_ you sooner then it wouldn’t have gotten so far and then you wouldn't have had to deal with all my bullshit and-”

“Hey,” Ghoul interrupts quickly, but then he drops his voice to something far more gentle as he brings a hand to the side of their face. “I may not have remembered for a little while, but I _never_ stopped loving you.”

Their faces are millimeters apart and Poison has to look away because something pulls at their chest when they can see so clearly that Ghoul isn’t mad at them. That he doesn’t blame them. 

And it’s _stupid_ but they can’t stop the way their head screams that they don’t deserve this. Ghoul’s forgiveness.

They lied right to his face _repeatedly_ , and asked the others to do the same. And it wasn’t to save Ghoul’s feelings, no, it was a selfish need to spare themself the pain of him not loving them anymore. 

They don’t _deserve_ this. And they just- can’t understand why he isn’t mad at them. At the very least he _should_ be mad, right?

Ghoul lifts his hand and tucks their hair behind their ear. “What’s goin’ on in your head, P?”

“Nothing. I- it’s not-”

The look he gives them kills any denial they might have been able to come up with. They don’t know what he wants them to say though. Because if they do say this outloud, if they tell him exactly how… not _wrong_ \- but definitely weird it is that he doesn’t seem to hold a grudge on them for what they did, well then he might just realize that he _should_. 

And they’re back at square one. They don’t want to tell Ghoul the truth because then they might lose this, might lose this moment where he’s right here, holding them as if they’re the only person in the world. And they can’t bear to lose that. 

“Okay,” Ghoul says after it’s clear that they can’t make up their mind. “How about this, ‘cause ‘m pretty sure I know what you’re thinking.”

Their heart constricts in a mix of relief, on the off chance he understands and isn’t going to break up with them over this, but also anxiety because he very well _could_ break up with them.

“You told me before, that you felt guilty for not telling me about us when I couldn’t remember it.” They nod, trying not to lean into Ghoul’s touch and failing. 

His expression drops and he looks lost in thought for a moment. 

“I don’t- Why would you be guilty about that though?” He asks, sounding far more confused than upset. 

“ ‘cos, ‘cos I just _let_ you struggle with not rememberin’ and the whole time I knew. And I- I fuckin’ had the others keep it from you too. I _lied_ to you Ghoul. For _weeks_. An’ you don’t even seem _upset_ about it.”

This makes him frown and he gnaws at the inside of his mouth as they watch a million and one emotions pass over his features. Then, when he comes to some sort of conclusion, he cups his hand against their cheek like the other night. The dye has been washed off by now and only faded stains remain, but it’s the gentleness of the action that steals Poison’s breath.

“Do you want me to be mad?” he asks under his breath.

“No.”

“Then,” The confusion is back as he pinches his brows together and his eyes dart to theirs. “Then why do you keep like- checkin’ to see if I’m mad about it yet?”

They want to look away, to hide their face in the blankets and just- shut off their brain for a little while. 

“ ‘Cause I don’ understand why you’re _not_. Like- like I’m fuckin’ waitin’ on it to snap and you ‘t realize how cruel that was of me to let you _struggle_.”

They don’t realize they’re waving their hand wildly until Ghoul laces their fingers together and brings their arms to his chest. 

“Baby,” Ghoul says fondly, but there’s an edge of sadness underneath it that Poison feels responsible for. “I would have done the same thing.”

“But- but I wasn’t even doing it to save you from it,” Poison blurts. “I just couldn’t stand th’ thought of you remembering’ but not caring and- and not wanting to be together anymore.”

Fuck. This wasn’t at all how they wanted this morning to go. But here they are, unloading even more of their shit onto Ghoul’s shoulders. And they feel _horrible_ but it’s like they can’t stop talking.

“Because it’s a fuckin’ miracle you liked me enough ‘t go ot with me in th’ first place and- and after all this shit, after everything bein’ with me has _cost_ you, Ghoul. I just- I don’t _understand_.”

They’ve shoved their face into the pillow in the middle of their rant but Ghoul makes a strange noise, one that makes Poison curious enough to glance over. And _fuck_.

He’s trying to wipe the tears away even as they’re looking at him, but they made him _cry_. Jesus Poison couldn’t possibly make his birthday worse.

Ghoul sniffs and opens his mouth, but all that comes out is a sad sort of noise that breaks their heart even more. Fuck they don’t even know what to _do_. Because they expected this but they didn’t _want_ it.

“No,” Ghoul says, his voice cracking. “I’m not- _fuck_ Pois.”

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I just- I didn’t- I didn’t know what else to do and-”

Ghoul laughs but it’s broken and Poison can feel their chest tightening like they’re about to have another panic attack. 

“Fuck. Poison, look at me.” They drag their eyes from the blankets to his face, instantly drawn in by the unexpected tenderness in them. “The reason that I’ve stuck with you through all of this, all the hard shit, it’s _because_ I love you.”

“But…”

He shakes his head. “No buts. I love you more than _anything_. And I meant it when I told you that I don’t blame you for not telling me sooner about us. If I was in your place, having to deal with being suddenly alone on top of _everythin’ else_ I- fuck I don’t think I’d have been able to do it.”

“I don’t…”

“You don’t what?” He prompts gently.

Poison tries to speak but really all that comes out is a pathetic sound that they hate themself for. Because they really _don’t_ know. It’s just what their mind goes to. Ghoul _should_ break up with them because they’re clearly a literal train wreck, and they’ve put him through so much. And yet, here he is. Comforting them and still giving a fuck about them. And they just don’t understand. 

“I love you,” They choke out, hot embarrassed tears streaming down their face.

They try to hide their tears into the pillow but Ghoul doesn’t seem to be having that. He just coos at them- something they should hate but don’t- and holds them close. The whole time they cry, angry and frustrated at themself for breaking down yet again, he talks to them. Tells them how much he loves them. That it’s okay. That he was never upset with them. 

“I’m sorry,” They whisper sometime later.

Their head is heavy and a headache throbs behind their eyes. Speaking makes their throat sore too but they don’t have it in them yet to get up and get something to drink. 

“Why’re you sorry?”

Fuck, Ghoul sounds like he’s been crying just as hard as they were. 

“Doin’ this again,” They murmur. “Havin’ another breakdown over somethin’ stupid.” “Hey, it’s not stupid. Pois, we- we went through Hell and it’s only normal for you to have been like- overwhelmed by everythin’. You don’t gotta ‘pologize for that.”

Poison laughs wetly. “Fuckin’ Witch what did I do ‘t deserve you?”

“Exist.”

They snort and try to hide their smile in the fabric of Ghoul’s shirt. 

“This isn’t how I wanted this mornin’ ‘t go,” Poison admits after a second.

Ghoul just hums and they both shift until Poison is practically laying on top of him. As scrawny as he is, Ghoul actually makes a pretty nice pillow. They could fall back asleep like this, drained from their tears but calm in his arms. It’s a strange mix.

“ ‘s your birthday,” They add. “Was gonna surprise you.”

“Shit. _Already_?”

The excitement is clear in his voice and it is such a relief from how he was crying earlier that Poison could almost cry _again_. 

“I didn’t think we were gonna celebrate…” Ghoul continues under his breath.

“ _Dude_. Baby, of fuckin’ _course_ we’re gonna celebrate. I got plans ‘n everythin’.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes. You’re gonna pick what you wanna do t’day. Anythin’ you want. Tha’s my present. ‘Cos I know you wanna explore an’ stuff and-”

Ghoul cuts them off by smashing their lips together. Poison would complain but honestly they really couldn’t fucking care. Not when Ghoul lets out a throaty noise and deepens the kiss until they’re pleasantly buzzed by the feel of his lips against their own. If this is what he wants to do all day Poison won’t complain a single bit.

_____________________________________

“Alright,” Poison breathes as they flop backwards onto their and Ghoul’s bed.

The Girl giggles as she bounces from their momentum before rolling up into a sitting position.

“What’s on th’ agenda t’day, girly?”

She frowns and scratches at her chin like she’s seen Doc do so many times. Ghoul snickers from across the room but quickly turns it into a cough. After they offered to spend the day doing whatever he wanted, Ghoul, unsurprisingly, chose to let the Girl pick.

Then, suddenly, an idea must hit her because her eyes dart up and she hurries to her knees. 

“Can we play hide ‘n seek?” She begs, bouncing in anticipation.

As if Poison would ever tell her no.

“ ‘Course honey,” They say with a smile, sitting back up. “You remember th’ ground rules?” At this, The Girl nods seriously. “I can’t go past th’ door with th’ red on it. And I can’t hide in people’s rooms or th’ bathrooms.”

“Other than our own,” Ghoul adds, coming over and kneeling by her so he can get her into her shoes.

She cranes her head back to Poison. “Can we play now?”

Thankfully Ghoul finishes tying her shoes quickly as she asks and so Poison nods, dramatically putting their hands over their eyes and beginning to count loudly. They hear Ghoul and the Girl’s giggles retreat out of the room and in opposite directions down the hallway. 

Since they have a larger space than usual to play, Poison counts to nearly fifty before getting impatient and shouting that they’re looking now. Or well, shouting as much as they can. Their voice cracks but they ignore it in favor of discretely sneaking into the bathroom across the hall.

They reach their arm through the cracked door and feel around until they find the lightswitch. There’s no laughter coming from inside so the other two probably aren’t in there, but it doesn’t hurt to try. That, of course, is how Kobra finds them. Bent over the tub with their hands on their hips, muttering to themself about how unfair it is having to be the person to find. There’s so many hiding spots here that it’s gonna take _ages_.

“Um…” 

They spin around quickly at the sound of their brother’s voice. He’s standing there in the doorway, toothbrush in hand and a very puzzled look on his face.

“Did you lose somethin’?” He asks, the little shit.

He’s played hide ‘n seek with them plenty of times. Usually as the score keeper. But still. He’s played. It counts. 

“Lookin’ for Ghoul ‘n the kiddo.”

He nods like they’ve unearthed some great secret for him.

“That would explain why Ghoul is hidin’ in our closet.”

Poison spins around. Kobra may not actually “play” but he never gives hints either. They squint at him, trying to figure out if he’s just leading them on so they'll get out of his hair. It’s possible. But also, it’s pretty clear there’s no one in the bathroom but the two of them. It won’t hurt to look in Jet and Kobra’s room.

“Thanks Kobes!” They exclaim, rushing past him and only pausing long enough to mess up his hair.

They can still hear him grumbling about it as they quickly knock on the other bedroom door. Sure, Kobra said Ghoul was here, but they’d rather not just walk in on Jet if it turns out that their brother was lying. But there’s no response so, curious, Poison nudges the door open. 

The inside is dark but there's a light on by the bed, illuminating just enough for them to make out the very suspicious pair of shoes poking out of the closet. From the size they’re guessing that Kobra was telling the truth, either that or the Girl and Ghoul switched shoes. Which, honestly wouldn’t surprise them. 

They tiptoe over to the closet, even though they’ve already knocked. The suspense makes it more fun, they think. Once they’re close enough, they yank the door open. Ghoul squeaks and jumps, banging his elbow on the door.

“Got you!” They exclaim, the same time as he asks,

“How th’ hell did you find me?”

They try to stifle their laughter as he begrudgingly sits up, rubbing his elbow with a scowl.

“I guess ‘m just th’ best at this game,” They say confidently, even jutting out their hip.

“Liar. Kobra told you didn’t he?”

“A winner never tells their secrets.”

Ghoul groans loudly and flips them off before making a show of standing up. 

“That’s not even th’ fuckin’ right saying, dumbass.”

They just shrug, still smiling as he tries to stay upset. 

“Can’t believe Kobra told, the little fucker,” Ghoul mutters under his breath, though his smile is beginning to fight through. 

“You can get ‘im back later. I found you ‘n now you gotta help me find The Girl.”

“Fine,” He groans. “But ‘m not a snitch so you gotta find her th’ old fashioned way.”

They roll their eyes and make to leave, but then their head goes light suddenly. They sway a little and Ghoul hurries to steady them. But then it passes and they’re straightening back up.

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” they reply, rolling their eyes again. “ ‘s jus’ annoying.”

Because it is. The dizzy spells are way less often already and they usually only last a second or two now. 

Ghoul nods, his smile returning, and says, “Wanna go find th’ Girl?” 

“Lead the way.”

_____________________________

At first, Kobra isn’t sure what woke him up. The room is dark and it’s not until he hears Jet’s choked off whimper, feels how he’s shaking and thrashing that the pieces click. 

It’s just a nightmare. They’ve all gotten pretty used to those, they have to be considering the frequency of at least one of them having one every night. So carefully, but with practiced ease, he rolls over and wraps his arms around Jet’s shoulders. He can’t really pin his arms down but, unlike Poison, just being held like this usually is enough to bring him out of it.

“Jet, baby, wake up. It’s okay. You’re jus’ dreamin’.”

Talking doesn’t hurt either and Kobra keeps his voice steady and quiet to make sure Jet doesn’t wake up thinking he’s alone. 

After just a few moments, ones that feel more like a lifetime as Jet weakly fights against Kobra and cries out softly- like he’s afraid of being heard-, Jet goes still and his breath hitches. Knowing that he’s awake now, Kobra keeps talking. 

“It’s okay,” he murmurs, running his hand through Jet’s hair and putting his forehead against his shoulder. “You’re okay.”

Jet wiggles a little and Kobra lets his grip relax, afraid that he’s making this worse. But Jet just turns until they’re laying face to face before wrapping one arm around Kobra’s waist and leaning his head on his chest. Softly, Kobra hums and lets his arms settle over Jet’s side and back. 

He can hear him breathing unsteadily, like he’s trying to be quiet still.

“I’ve got you,” He whispers into Jet’s hair. “It’s okay, I promise.”

He doesn’t expect Jet to answer. He doesn’t really talk about what he sees when he has nightmares like this and Kobra respects that. But the exhausted sort of pain in Jet’s voice when he answers this time is enough to break Kobra’s heart.

“They’re gone.”

If he didn’t sound so fragile right now, Kobra would have rolled his eyes. Who’s gone? But this isn’t the type of thing that’s going to be resolved by just making Jet laugh.

“ Do you wanna talk about it?”

Jet tenses up. “I- I don’-”

His breathing gets fast again so Kobra holds onto him just a little tighter. “Hey, it’s okay. You don’ have to. I just want you ‘t know tha’ you can. If you wanted.”

Jet nods and his hair tickles Kobra’s nose, but he doesn't shift away.

He wishes he could fix this. He hates seeing someone he loves be so broken up over something like this. And it seems like no matter how good things are, there’s always something from the past trying to poke its head in and ruin things. 

And he doesn’t mean that the others are at fault for any of that. Witch knows he has his own fair share of nightmares. It doesn’t make any sense to blame the person for the shit their head conjures up. It’s the things from the past, the things that make Jet have nightmares like this and make Poison slip completely into the past sometimes. _Those_ are what piss him off. They lived through this shit once. Do they really have to do it again?

The answer isn’t really that simple. And Kobra knows that.

Even so, it’s a mild surprise when Jet starts speaking.

“ c’n I just tell you about ‘em? I don’- I can’t…”

“Of course,” Kobra assures him earnestly. “You can tell me ‘s much as you’re comfortable with.”

Jet takes a shaky breath and plays anxiously with the hem of Kobra’s shirt.

“They were m’ first crew. After my mom… I couldn’t leave, you know? So I stayed. We were a large crew but it was- it was a family. Kinda like what we have here.”

Kobra can feel the pain in his chest from knowing that this story won’t end well. But just from the way Jet’s talking about them, he can see how close he was to them. And he won’t press for details, even if he wants to know what happened just so he can make sure Jet never has to go through it again. 

“Tell me about them?”

_________________________________________

Sandman is busy shoving things into his backpack when the door to the control room opens. He glances up, unsurprised to see Poison wandering inside. They seem to have taken a liking to the radio here and have spent hours listening to the broadcasts that filter through. The surprising thing, however, is that Ghoul is with them today.

As he’s been recovering, physically and memory wise, Sandman is beginning to realize that the kid never seems to sit still. He’s the same way, hence the little clicker he has in his jacket pocket. And the various other small things he likes to fidget with stashed in his bag. He wonders if he should let Ghoul have one? 

Maybe having something to do with his hands would help him like it helps Sandman concentrate. He’ll have to do that when he gets back. For now, he idly watches Poison stride over to the radio and plop down in the chair. Ghoul stands beside them, talking animatedly about something. Sandman’s only able to pick out a few words. Something about presents? Or a surprise? 

Curious now- and not procrastinating on doing his final checks before the run. Nope- Sandman wanders over to the two young ‘joys.

“Sandy!” Ghoul exclaims when he gets closer.

Sandman sighs in exasperation but doesn’t correct Ghoul. He is very adamant about using the nickname and truthfully Sandman has more to worry about than nicknames he doesn’t really care for. Besides, it’s one that Benz uses sometimes and so it's not like he _completely_ hates it.

“What’s up?” He asks lightly, tugging on his holster to make sure it’s in place. 

“Poison won't tell me what my surprise is!”

His eyebrows raise at that. Does he even want to ask?

“Tha’s cos it won’t be a _surprise_ if I jus’ tell you. Right, Sandman?”

“Well I- uh generally speaking yeah. That’s kinda the whole point of a surprise, right?”

Ghoul frowns and crosses his arms over his chest. “Yeah. But th’ wait is killing me!”

Poison snorts. “You’ve waited a whole year, Ghoulie. You can’t wait a few more hours?”

At last Ghoul concedes with a sigh.

“Fine,” He draws the word out but a smile is beginning to break through. Sandman is now more confused than before he walked over.

“What’s the surprise for anyway?” He has to ask. 

Poiosn’s eyes light up and they sit up in their chair. “ ‘s his birthday present!” “Birthday? I thought you didn’t know when it was?”

“We don’t. But usually this time ‘a year we celebrate. Jet’s birthday is usually the first really cool day. And then a month or so later we do Ghoul’s!”

Well fuck.

“Shit, you should’a told me,” Sandman says under his breath.

“Why?”

“ ‘cause I could have gotten like, a cake or somethin’ made. I mean, it wouldn’t be all that fancy but still. You gotta have cake on your birthday.”

Ghoul bounces on his feet, looking over to Poison in excitement. “ ‘s this part ‘a th’ surprise then? I get a cake?”

But Poison is looking at Sandman with a strange expression on their face. 

“Huh,” They whisper, so quiet that he’d be concerned if it wasn't for the faint smile they’re wearing.

“What is it?” Ghoul asks, suddenly sincere. 

Poison shakes their head but the smile remains on their face. “Nothin’. I just- remembered somethin’ from when me ‘n Kobes were little.”

“A good something?”

They nod. “Yeah. Um- it was his like- first birthday or whatever. ‘N our parents got him this little cake with Mousekat on it. It was a big thing. And they set it in front of him and he looked at it and then smashed his face right into it. Got blue icin’ _everywhere_.”

Sandman can’t help the laugh that bubbles up from the mental image of a baby Kobra just headbutting a cake. That’s absolutely adorable and he kinda wishes he’d been there to see it.

Ghoul’s laughing too, a full body laugh that has him leaning on the armrest of Poison's chair.

“Fuckin’ _Witch_ ,” Ghoul wheezes. “ ‘m _so_ gonna use tha’.”

Sandman gets an idea.

“Oh. Well, since I didn’t have time to do a cake, here.”

He digs the clicker out of his pocket and drops it in Ghoul’s palms. The kid studies it for a second and looks up, clearly confused.

“Uh… thanks?”

Sandman rolls his eyes. “It’s a clicking toy. You just press the button and it like, is fun. Helps with my anxiety but I noticed you tapping a lot so I thought it might help you too?”

Ghoul inspects the toy some more and presses the button, making it click. A bright smile blooms across his face and he clicks it again three times in rapid succession before shoving it into his pocket.

“Thanks dude! I didn’t know they made toys like that.”

“Yeah. I’ve got a bunch. Maybe I could let you pick out a few when I get back?”

Before Ghoul can answer, a hand claps on Sandman’s shoulder and he turns to face Phantom. “You ready?” he asks.

And no, Sandman isn’t. He hates three person runs. Hates going to the City. But someone has to stay back to run everything and they _need_ these supplies. So it’s not like he can say no.

“Yeah. Hey, uh- would you do me a favor if you have the time?”

Phantom nods sincerely. “What is it?”

“See if you can find a cake laying around? Like a birthday one ‘n not the big batches they do for th’ cafeteria?”

“Who’s it for?” 

“Me!” Ghoul cuts in, leaning against Sandman’s side with a wide grin. “ ‘m finally th’ same age as Kobra!”

Poison sighs like this is something they’ve had to explain often. “Just ‘cause you’re th’ same number doesn’t mean you’re th’ same age. He’s still got like, months on you.”

“Anyway,” Sandman says. “They didn't tell me until just now so I know it’s short notice, but if not maybe I can snatch one from like a bakery or somethin’ on our way back.”

“Nah. I’ll take care of it. One birthday cake for the ghoul, coming up.”

Ghoul cheers loudly in Sandman’s ear but he doesn’t protest when he shrugs him off his shoulder. 

Really, Sandman loves the kid ,but right now his head is full of those pre-mission worries that always seem to pop up.

He trusts his crew. But even the best crews can screw up, can be taken in. And with only three of them, that makes only two people actually fighting. He doesn’t hold it against Benz, really he doesn’t. And he would never, ever say it to him, but he sometimes wishes he’d just _try_ and shoot something. It’d save them so much stress and anxiety if he didn’t have to constantly look over his shoulder to make sure Benz hasn’t been shot because he refuses to even point his gun at a Drac. 

But, again, those are thoughts that Sandman keeps to himself. He understands Benz’s reasoning, understands how hard it must be. And it’s not like Benz doesn’t help in his own way. He’s crucial to almost every run they do. Without him they’d probably all have been killed ten times over. 

That doesn’t stop him from staring at the gun carefully holstered on Benz’s hip when he enters the communication room. 

________________________________

Running the Underground is pretty stressful business. Sandman always feels like he’s a computer with twenty tabs open at all times, running around trying to figure out where the music is coming from. Having the other three helps a lot though. Just someone else being there to bounce ideas off of, to talk to about shit that he can’t get out of his head.

Sometimes he wonders if this would even work if it wasn't the four of them. They all just work so well together, practically read each other's minds, that trying to do this without one of them just feels impossible.

And that’s true for everyday things, like planning and deciding what supplies are a priority on the next run. But it’s even more true in moments like this one, where they’re all topside.

Sandman stands by what he said, he hates this. Hates being back on the streets that he roamed when he was younger. Back when he was full of anger and the need to set things right.

And that hasn’t changed. He still hates Better Living and what they stand for with everything in him. But his tactics are different now. He’s not chugging homemade bottle rockets at Dracs. Or getting shot because of it and having to drag himself to the nearest hospital to get patched up. 

He doesn’t miss it, not even a little. Especially since the doctor that always patched him up is standing beside him.

Benz has his blaster out, though it's held down by his hip rather than in a position to fire. They all know he won’t be shooting it unless he absolutely has to. 

Thankfully, this run is going smoothly. It’s something they couldn’t justify sending another crew to take care of. 

“Ready?” Stakes asks, turned around to face him.

They’re standing in the alley outside of the hospital Benz used to work, just far enough away that the cameras can’t see them yet. One step closer and the clock starts ticking. Sandman hates that they have to steel from places like this. But the City wisened up fast to the fact that anyone who wanted medical supplies could just raid a warehouse. But, if they kept it all in the most secure, well guarded hospital in the City, then both their wealthy patients and their greedy hoard of medical supplies could be safe.

Little do they know, Benz and Sandman know this place like the backs of their hands.

Shaking himself from his thoughts, Sandman gives the go ahead and they all step forward in unison. They have half an hour- tops- before their loop on the cameras goes out. The City will be able to see the old feed and tell that someone broke in, which is unavoidable, but thanks to their disguises no one will know it’s them.

He has to admit, as he steps through a back entrance that Stakes had just hacked the lock of, he feels a little ridiculous. Yeah, he came up with the idea for his mask and outfit, but he feels so out of place the second he’s standing in the brightly lit hallway. 

The good thing is, the others stand out just as much.

Benz’s bright yellow…. Well, _everything_ is almost an eye strain against the bleached white walls. Meanwhile Sandman feels like a void, a dark, spiky void in comparison. But the spiky bits on the top of his full face mask combined with all black clothing will do that. Same for the almost creepy smile painted on the part over his mouth.

Stakes is no less ridiculous looking though. He has a deep red leather jacket on instead of his usual one and his mask is a bright, almost Christmas red. If that were a holiday anymore, anyway. 

And if Phantom were here and not keeping an eye on the Underground, he’d be decked out in his signature green _everything_.

To sum it up, if you couldn’t tell, they look fucking ridiculous. But that’s the point. 

The City knows they exist by now. How could they not?

But they don’t know who they are. Let alone where the Underground is or how many people they have down there. Sandman would prefer to keep it that way, thanks. That’s why they dress up like this. Just a simple mask like most killjoys in the desert wouldn’t be enough. The City has scanners here, ways to track you using hair or even fingerprints. They have to be extra careful. Looking like idiots is worth not getting thrown into a Better Living cell. Sandman’s been there, done that, and _really_ would rather not do it again.

Quietly, the four of them move through the hallway towards the service elevator at the very end. There’s no doctors or patients down here and they’ve timed it perfectly so the cleaning staff is on their break for the next half hour. But that’s all the time they have to get in and out. 

If anyone other than a janitor sees them they’re dead. Doctors and nurses have pagers and the patients will probably have Dracs with them as bodyguards. 

Sandman is aware of the risks but, seeing as there’s been a surge of people joining the Underground, the supplies hoarded here are something they desperately need.

The door to the supply room is nothing fancy. At least, it doesn’t look that way. But Sandman knows that there’s at least three sets of manual locks as well as two alarms hooked up to it. He stands guard as Stakes gets to work disarming the alarms. Benz stands by his side, tense.

“Hate it here,” He whispers, catching Sandman off guard.

Benz doesn’t exactly like to talk about his time here, and he can’t blame him for that. They aren’t exactly happy memories.

“Me too” He admits, on instinct checking both directions to make sure their whispering hasn’t drawn attention.

But the hallway remains completely quiet save for the clicking sounds of Stakes picking the locks. If he’s distracted by their talking, he doesn’t mention it.

Benz chuckles suddenly. “You drove me nuts.”

“Hey,” Sandman whines. “It’s not my fault that you were borin’ as fuck.”

“Ha. I barely even knew you were there, let alone was able to deal with your stupid ass stories.”

“My stories were great,” He defends with a huff, amused.

“Right. ‘Cause they were completely realistic.”

“They were! You just don’t have a good imagination, my friend.”

“You tried to tell me that you broke your arm because the City put a bone breaking ray into cats.”

“And you would put that past them?” He argues with a smirk.

Benz sighs and rolls his eyes and Sandman knows he’s won. Thankfully, the last lock clicks before he has the chance to start recounting some of the wilder stores that Sandman tried to tell him. Those _definitely_ wouldn’t hold up to argument. 

This time, Stakes stays back while the two of them sneak into the supply room. It’s a large space but there’s a neat system for where everything goes so it doesn’t take them all that long to start shoving things into the duffle bags they’ve brought.

What they need is mostly pretty standard supplies. Premade medkits, saline, reusable needles, stuff like that is what’s on Sandman’s list. Benz is across the room, one or two isles down, grabbing the actual medicine that they need because he can just read the bottle and know what it is. They’re in and out in less than ten minutes.

Things don’t really start going wrong until they’re almost at the exit. There’s a shout and Sandman turns around in time to see a doctor standing at the foot of the stairs at the end of the hallway. The old guy shouts again and then there’s the sound of heavy boots thundering down the steps. Dracs. A lot of them.

Sandman doesn’t have to give an order for them to all take off running at once. Lasers fly past them and hit the brick of the surrounding buildings. Someone grunts and he turns as Benz hurries to steady Stakes as his bad leg threatens to give out. 

He swears under his breath and fires a series of quick shots behind him as the others climb into the waiting car. He thinks he might hit a couple Dracs before Stakes is yanking him inside by the back of his jacket.

And then they’re off, flying down the dark streets. He can hear the sirens in the distance, the flashing lights reflecting off the too-shiny windows of the buildings lining the street. But they’re lucky. Before the Dracs find them they’re pulling into the garage.

Benz lets up on the gas as he takes them down to the last level, but none of them relax. The Trans-Am sits carefully parked in the space beside their beat up, stolen Drac car. 

Stakes is limping as they quietly make their way down the sidewalk towards the entrance to the Underground. The Drac’s cars don’t even slow down as they speed past them but Sandman doesn’t take a full breath until the door locks behind them.

In an instant, Benz has Stakes sit down. He protests the whole time, insisting that he’s fine and that it’s nothing, but it’s obvious he’s in a lot of pain.

Sandman thought that his leg was getting better. He’s been walking on it more and even started working out again. But maybe running for their lives was a bit too much. 

He passes the bags of supplies over to the runner standing ready to take them to be inventoried. Phantom walks in then and Sandman is relieved until he notices the look on his face.

But he pauses when he notices Benz leaning over Stake’s leg.

“What happened?” 

“We had to run and it wasn’t great on his leg,” Sandman supplies. “What’s going on? You look spooked.”

“An alarm was triggered. But it was only for a split second. O’Neal and some others are on their way to check now.”

Sandman curses under his breath. Just what they needed today. They barely fucking made it out of the run and the last thing he needs is a security breech. The adrenaline of running for his life is fading and, truthfully, he feels like he could fall over at any moment. 

“How long has it been since they went to check?” He asks.

Phantom shrugs. “Five minutes. It went off right as we opened the door for you guys. Maybe it’s just a faulty sensor?”

From across the room, Stakes protests with a loud snort. “Faulty my ass.”

“He has a point.”

Phantom sighs but doesn’t argue. They all know how unlikely it is that Stake’s sensors are messing up. Especially because over the past few weeks he and Kobra have been going around and doing a sort of tune up on some of their systems. Mainly the alarms. So they shouldn’t be going off for no reason. 

Fuck. Can’t Sandman have like- one day of peace? One day where nothing goes wrong? 

Phantom’s radio clicks to life and someone rushes out a hurried sentence that Sandman doesn’t catch. 

“What did they-”

A shrill alarm begins to sound, cutting off his sentence. But he has a pretty good guess of what was said now. 

“Shit,” Benz curses loudly, hurrying to pull Stakes to his feet. “Is that what I think it is?” But Sandman is already thinking twenty steps ahead, his mind whirling as he panics. These alarms existed for a reason but he honestly had prayed today wouldn’t come. 

Without looking he snatches his radio out of his pocket and turns it to O’Neal’s personal frequency. He starts giving orders in rapid fire, only pausing to wait for an affirmative on her end. Once that happens he’s turning to his crew and pulling his gun for the second time today.

“They found us.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will say, we will be getting more of Jet and Kobra soon I promise. But for now, please forgive the cliff hanger haha  
> I'd love to hear what you guys think, don't be affraid to yell at me haha  
> <3


	4. Fire at Will

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNINGS:  
> \- blood and violence  
> -death  
> _there's a pretty heavy argument in the last scene, someone is hit (it's on accident). Idk if that counts as a trigger but putting it in to be safe  
> \- anxiety

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone!  
> So of course when I give myself two weeks to work on a chapter I end up finishing it in about one haha. From here on out I'm just gonna say one to two weeks, that way I can at least pretend I have an actual schedule for these updates. But yeah.  
> Please read the trigger warnings in the summary, this one is a little heavier than the previous ones!!  
> I want to thank @Clocks-are-our-friends for being so extremely supporting of this fic and helping me come up with headcannons for the ybs. Most, if not all, of the headcannons and backstory sprinkled around in this chapter have been from our conversations over the past few weeks!  
> And I also wanted to thank @i-like-to-wander-around-here for being such an amazing beta and dealing with not only my shitty grammar but my complete lack of a schedule as well. I really couldn't do this with out her! <3  
> Okay, I hope you all enjoy!

“ _He_ seemed happy,” Kobra mumbles, concealing a smirk as he turns to rummage through the dresser.

Jet snorts a little at how much of an understatement that is “ _Happy_? Did you not see Ghoul’s fuckin’ smile? He’s gonna be hyper for _days_.”

Kobra shrugs like -what can we do about it?- before sliding one of Jet’s hoodies over his head. Jet never gets tired of watching their boyfriend. And not in like- the creepy way or anything. They’re just… amazed by the small things. The way Kobra tilts his head as he untangles the laces of his boots to slide them off. How, even after all this time, he slides his arms through the holes of his binder and pulls it off without taking off his shirt. 

And if Jet maybe gets caught staring at the little flash of his stomach that’s revealed when he stretches his arms over his head, well that’s nothing new, either. Kobra flashes them a knowing smile and Jet tries to hide the way their face is heating up by actually turning around and finding their own clothes to sleep in. 

“Do you think that much sugar is bad for him?” Kobra questions after a moment, as if nothing happened. 

“Probably. But ‘s his birthday. The little fucker deserves it.”

Kobra snorts. “You say that. But by tomorrow when his bouncin’ off th’ walls we’re gonna regret all tha’ candy.”

Yeah… that’s probably what’s going to happen. But it’s worth it because they haven't seen Ghoul smile like he did today since, well since before the Girl was taken. 

The four of them ended up spending the whole day together, for once not going off in separate directions. The day was spent doing nothing of real importance. For a little while, Jet, Kobra, and The Girl kept Ghoul and Poison company in the communications room. Then there was hide and seek, which eventually they and Kobra were roped in. And, to Jet’s surprise, there was an actual _cake_. They’ve had the little square things that the cafeteria has sometimes, and those are good, but nothing compared to an _actual_ slice of cake. There was even icing on it! And someone wrote happy birthday and stuck candles in it. 

It wasn’t even Jet’s birthday but they were still just as shocked as Ghoul. Between the five of them, they demolished the entire thing and it almost felt like things were normal again. With Poison and Ghoul practically attached at the hip the whole time and the Girl running around, having a blast. Kobra would grumble every time his sibling and Ghoul would kiss, and then turn around the next moment and steal a kiss from Jet. Today was _good_. It was something that Jet really needed. 

Kobra comes up behind them and wraps his arms around their waist and he rests his head on their shoulder. For a few moments they stay like that, comfortable in the quiet of their room. Today was a good day but Jet’s definitely ready to get some sleep. But that can wait a few minutes longer.

“Love you,” they say, tilting their head back until it comes into contact with Kobra’s.

He hums and pulls back to press his lips against the top of their head. Not quite a kiss, but it doesn’t fail to make their stomach flip.

“We should sleep.”

Jet can’t help but agree, and it's not until they’re laying there in the dark, curled safely in Kobra’s arms, that it hits them again. They haven't had a nightmare as bad as the one this morning in a while. Maybe lately they’ve just been so drained that their subconscious has been too tired to drag that shit back up. But now that they’re doing better, does that mean the dreams are going to come back? Going to sleep seems pointless if they’re just going to be woken up in a few hours.

“Jet,” Kobra huffs, a lack of annoyance in his sleepy voice. “Sleep. Knowing Ghoul, ‘es gonna eat all th’ candy ‘n wake us up first thing.”

“I don’t wanna have another nightmare.”

Jet’s voice feels too loud in the otherwise silent room. Their fear must be evident because Kobra is rolling over and turning on the light before they can protest. When he turns back to them, there is nothing but understanding in his eyes.

“Jet…”

But they shake their head. “I don’t wanna see it again. I already- I already lived through it once. I don’t- I _can’t_ do it again.”

“You won’t have to.”

Jet sucks in a breath, determined not to break down here. Not in front of Kobra. Not like this. 

“Jet, _look_ at me. Please?”

They manage to pry their eyes open enough to look at him. Despite themself, just seeing the unwavered adoration in his eyes is enough for them to take a steady breath. Their first in who knows how long

“I’m not goin’ anywhere. Neither are th’ others. I can’t change the past but I can _promise_ you that it won’t happen again.”

“But we can’t know for sure,” Jet argues desperately. “What if- what if I can’t _protect_ you and-”

They remember when Kobra was down on their run to get the Girl. How everything just narrowed down to what was important. The fear that they felt in that moment is something they had never wanted to experience again. Not after what happened inside the City. Not when it became the third time that Jet failed the people they loved.

“You’re not the one solely responsible for this crew, Jet,” Kobra reassures them gently. “You don’t have to do that alone. We would never _ask_ you to. I- you know how you’re always tellin’ Poison tha’ when somethin’ goes wrong that it ain’t jus’ their fault, cos you know they’re gonna blame themself?” Jet nods silently. “It’s like that. Just because something’s happened before where one of us has gotten hurt, that _doesn’t_ mean that it’s your fault or that you need to do better.”

“Okay, but when you hit your head an-”

“And you tried to sacrifice yourself?”

Jet’s words die in their mouth. Because that’s exactly what they had been trying to do. But it’s the way Kobra _says_ it, like it hurts him just to think about, _that’s_ what makes them pause.

“I wanted ‘t make sure you guys were safe…” They admit in a whisper.

“Okay. I understand that, and I love you for always looking out for us, but, even though that’s not just _your_ job, you can’t keep anyone safe if you try and put our lives over yours. You’re _just_ as important, Star. You’re important to _me_.”

“I…”

Kobra scrunches his face up and pulls them both up. Once they’re standing, he wraps his arms around Jet’s waist and begins to sway softly. It takes their brain a moment to realize that they’re kind of dancing. It’s more like they're both standing there and occasionally they’ll lean a bit. But it only takes a few moments before the tension is draining out of Jet’s body. They lean into Kobra more and he starts swaying them for real. This must have been his plan, to calm them down before they have a full on breakdown. 

There’s no rhythm or music, but Jet can almost hear the beat if they close their eyes and focus on their movements. They get lost in it. In the easy sway and the feeling of their boyfriend so close. Jet has, admittedly, almost forgotten the conversation until Kobra speaks up.

“If it’d been th’ other way around,” he says slowly. “ ‘f _I’d_ tried to stay back so you could escape, what would you have done?”

Kobra’s question feels like a punch to the chest and it catches them off guard. Just the _thought_ of him doing that hurts something deep inside them. It takes another couple of seconds for them to realize that that’s the point he’s trying to _make_. If Kobra got hurt to protect them, they’d be thankful, yeah, but the _pain_ that accompanies the thought is enough for them to know that they’d be heartbroken. And if he _died_ trying to keep them safe? Fuck Jet can’t even _think_ about it. The thought is too painful, too much. 

“Oh.”

“I’m not saying’ tha’ to make you feel bad. I’m- I’m really grateful for th’ fact that you’re willin’ ‘t go ‘t such lengths to keep me safe. But I also just wanted you to know that th’ thought of losing’ you hurts worse than anythin’ Better Living could do to me.”

They don’t say anything after that. There’s nothing really to say. Jet understands now, more than they did before, anyway. If Kobra hurt half as much as Jet did just from hearing the tables being flipped, then there’s no way they could put him through that again. 

After a short while, their dancing turns into simply holding each other. It’s peaceful in a way that Jet hasn’t ever really experienced with anyone else. _Safe_ is the only word they can think of. Nothing else matters. The outside world doesn’t exist and it’s just the two of them. They could stay like this forever, really.

That is, until an alarm begins to sound.

The loud, piercing noise startles them both. They look around wildly, trying to figure out where the sound is coming from but Jet’s heart is racing so fast that they can’t really focus.

Kobra takes their hand tightly, his eyes wide. 

“C’mon. That can’t be good,” he shouts before all but dragging Jet out the door.

_____________________________________________

“How the fuck did they find us?” Stakes yells over the noise.

Phantom is too busy shouting orders into his own radio to answer him. Sandman is doing the same as he anxiously tugs at his hair. 

He’s about to go over there and grab his hand before he starts taking out chunks, but Benz beats him to it. Phantom gets it, he really does, but right now, panicking is only going to make things worse.

They have things planned in case this ever happened, though they had always hoped it never would. But that’d be too good to be true. The government was bound to find them sooner or later. Phantom just wishes it was a little later.

“What about th’ Four?” Stakes speaks up when no-one answers his first question, not looking up from the computer he’s typing rapidly on.

The control room around them is full of people and Phantom knows that not everyone here can, or will fight. And he respects that. There’s kids here, younger than the Girl, and whole families that stay because it’s safer. 

If he’s honest, Phantom is trying to fight the urge to run out of this room and go down to the sections where those families live. He could probably get them all to safety if he left now. And if not, he’s pretty confident that he could hold off the Dracs for them, at least for a little while. But he can’t do that. He has to focus on the bigger picture because if not, a lot of people are going to die today. He has to trust that their plan will work and everyone will get out.

“They’re on their way up, I got Brink keeping them safe,” Sandman informs them as he shoves another battery pack into his jacket pocket.

Benz hovers nervously by his side but his expression is determined, focused like it usually is whenever he has to turn off his thoughts in order to do something like this.

They all know the plan and Phantom helped the other three come up with it, but that doesn’t make this any easier. 

There’s a safehouse they’ve sorta created in the desert. An old mall that was almost completely intact. They’ve been sending crews out to make it more livable and while it’s not quite finished yet, there should be enough supplies to sustain the people they have for at least a month. If not more. 

The hard part is going to be getting everyone to Zone 5. They have at least two hundred people here, sneaking that many people past a city full of Dracs is going to be near impossible. But, they have this plan for that exact reason.

The four of them are going to be a diversion. They’re going to lead the City’s pigs in the exact opposite direction of the tunnels out of the City that they’ve kept hidden. It’s a stupid plan. Phantom can admit that much at least. But they have an old vehicle waiting at the end of the other tunnel, the one they’ll be, hopefully, escaping through. Inside it has medical supplies, food, and a backup radio. 

But first, they have to get everyone to round up. That’s what O’Neal is doing. Sandman didn’t trust anyone else to do it and Phantom has to agree. O’Neal and her team are the best they have down here. 

There’s only one small hiccup, really. They didn’t account for having the Four here when they had to evacuate. Now, Phantom would love to just send them out with the others, but he knows damn well that that shit isn’t going to go well. They don’t like being told what to do and, understandably, they’re probably gonna argue. 

Speaking of, Brink shoves the control room door open less than a second later. They stride in with the Four walking closely behind. Poison is in front, clutching their blaster like it’s both a lifeline and a hot coal. Their eyes dart around the room and they wince everytime the alarm sounds again. 

Behind them, Jet has the Girl on his hip. Her back is to the room and she has her face pressed into the fabric of his jacket. Oh- Phantom notices the bracelet on Jet’s wrist. _Their_ jacket.

Kobra comes into the room next, followed by Ghoul. They all look understandably terrified, but ready for a fight.

Poison is the one who comes over and, when they see Sandman still giving orders into his radio, gives Phantom a sideways look. 

“What’s going on? No-one said anythin’ other than ‘t grab our guns.”

“Dracs have broken in. The City’s found out we’re here.”

They look like they’re about to pass out for a second, but then Kobra reaches over and brushes his hand against their arm. Phantom notices they’re not wearing their jacket, that it’s instead draped over the Girl’s shoulders. 

“What’s the plan?” They ask seriously, all traces of the fear that was just eating at them gone.

“The four of us ‘re the diversion. There’s a safehouse in Zone 5 that we’re gonna get everyone to. We have a separate tunnel to escape through after everyone is out.”

“Just the four of you?” Jet asks, brows furrowed like they hate the idea. 

“Yeah. We don’t gotta win. So long as we can hold them off long enough for everyone else to get to safety.”

“I don’t like th’ sound of that,” Ghoul announces.

“Me neither,” Poison chimes in.

“We’re not gonna ask you to fight today.”

Poison glares harshly at Sandman. “We can do it. I know we lost our last fight but-”

“That’s not it,” Sandman snaps. “Our car only seats four. We don’t have the room, or the supplies to take more than the four of us. And there’s no way in Hell anyone’s getting left behind. So just suck it up and go with the others.”

Poison recoils like they’ve been hit. But then their shock turns to anger and Phantom has to step between them.

“Stop it. Sandman could have worded that a little better,” He sends his crewmate a warning glare. “But we don’t have time to argue. It’s best if we just stick to the plan. If you guys go with the group, then you’ll be able to help our guards keep them safe.”

Poison nods slowly, squaring their shoulders even as they take a step back. Phantom turns to Sandman and waits until he stops looking like he’s about to vibrate out of his skin, before he turns away. 

“- in Sandman.”

He shoots Poison an unreadable look that’s half glare and half concern, before grabbing his radio. Phantom quickly picks up his knife from the nearby table and tucks it into his boot as Sandman answers O’Neal.

“Go for Sandman.”

“We’ve got everyone. There were a few people who wanted ‘t fight. But I convinced ‘em to stay with the group.”

Sandman scrubs at his eyes in the way that tells Phantom that he’s getting tired. And normally after a run as stressful as the one today, he’d be forcing his friends to take the day off. They’re all so smart most of the time but he swears it’s like dealing with children when he tries to get them to rest. He wishes they had time for that today. But, of course, life is never that easy.

“Good,” Sandman answers. “ ‘m sending you some additions. They’re gonna help.” “Gotcha. Stay safe.”

Sandman nods and then shakes his head, like he forgot that he was talking on the radio and not face to face.

“You too. See you on th’ other side.”

He then turns to Poison. “Meet O’Neal at the back of the cafeteria. That’s where the tunnels start.”

“Where are you guys going?” Poison questions, the defiance all but gone from their voice. 

“The Dracs are mostly concentrated on one of the side entrances. We’re gonna keep them there until everyone’s out. Then we’ll make a run for it.”

Hesitantly, Poison nods. “I um… just- _thank you_. I don’t know what would’a happened if you guys weren’t there and-”

“Don’t,” Sandman cuts them off, just barely smiling. “You don’t have to thank us. You’re good kids. We’ll see you in Zone 5, yeah?”

The four of them look at the Youngbloods for a moment. Phantom can see the hesitation in their eyes. They don’t want to fight. Not so soon. But they’re willing to, for them. 

He’d be honored if it weren’t for the fact that these kids have already been in enough fights for a lifetime.And he’s going to do everything he can to make sure they don’t have to be in another one today.

“Can we at least have your radio frequency?”

It’s Benz who nods and reaches out a hand for Kobra to hand him place his radio. He ended up keeping it after his and Jet’s run the other week, and Phantom is thankful for that as Benz tunes it to the right frequency. He doesn’t like the idea of losing contact with the Four any more than they do. 

“There,” Benz says as he passes the radio back to Kobra. “Don’t over use it. But if you need us, just call.”

Kobra nods solemnly and clips it back onto his hip. 

“We’ll see you soon,” Benz says firmly, like he’s making a promise.

The Four say their goodbyes and Jet manages to get the Girl to wave goodbye too. It breaks Phantom’s heart a little, truthfully. He wishes they could have stayed here. He and the others have spent years making this place safe for anyone who needed it. For people like the Four who deserve to have someplace to stay where they can just _live_. It feels like they’ve only been here a few days. 

“Bye,” the Girl murmurs, clutching tightly to Jet’s jacket.

Phantom steps closer and Jet transfers her to his arms. She wraps her arms around his neck and squeezes as he hugs her back just as enthusiastically. They’ve only gotten to hang out a little so far, everything’s been too busy for him to really have time for a playdate like he wanted. But the couple of times they’ve played together have been a lot of fun and he already knows he’s gonna miss her.

“Be good, okay?”

She nods and Phantom gives her back to Jet, even if he kinda wants to hold her a little longer. She’s such a sweet kid and he knows that she’s got the others wrapped around her finger too. Hopefully soon all of this will blow over and he’ll get to have a proper playdate with her.

“Alright,” Sandman cuts in, though he doesn’t sound happy to do so. “O’Neal is in place, you guys should go catch up with her.”

The Four turn to Brink, who flicks their blaster off of stun and leads the way out the door. Phantom watches them leave and tries very hard not to second guess this. 

_______________________________

The Youngbloods move quickly down the halls, silent as they keep an ear out for any Dracs that have made it this far down. In just a few moments they’ll reach one of the entrances where they’ve broken in. Sandman hopes the four of them will be enough to hold off most of the Dracs. He tries to reassure himself that his crew can handle themselves and that they’ve done a lot of equally risky things in the past.

This is something he’s feared happening for a long time. He can’t stop the way his mind is shoving facts and probabilities at him like he doesn’t already _know_ how bad of a plan this is. Because Stakes can’t run with his injured leg. He’s keeping up with their pace but Sandman can tell he’s fighting not to limp. And he doesn’t even want to allow himself to consider what might happen if Stakes were to fall behind. 

There’s just too much that can go wrong but if he lets himself focus on it for long, then it _will_ go wrong.

He doesn’t have time to stress about it for much longer because it’s only one more turn before they’re coming up on a group of Dracs. There’s ten, maybe fifteen, and they all aim their weapons the second the Youngbloods come into view. And, just like that, Sandman is shooting. 

Everything fades to just the familiar process of aiming and firing. Dracs fall quickly, most of which were taken down by Phantom. But him and stakes- sounds more natural take out a few as well and, soon enough, the hallway is empty. Sandman doesn’t have to look to know Benz didn’t fire his gun. But that wasn't necessarily a dire situation so he can’t fault him for it. He just has to have faith that if the time comes, Benz will have his back.

“Lets go,” Sandman orders, already stepping over the cooling bodies of the Dracs.

The others follow behind him and it’s only a few more turns before they run into more Dracs. This time, there’s a ‘crow with them. Sandman curses under his breath as he leans around the corner to shoot at the City’s minions. Benz is beside him, his gun held close to his chest almost like he’s praying. Sandman doesn’t have time to tell him how nice a little help would be right about now, because he’s certain Benz _knows_ that this is kind of a four person job.

Thankfully, Stakes and Phantom rarely miss their targets so, yet again, the three of them manage to clear the area relatively quickly. Even the ‘crow lies lifeless for them to step around.

They hurry down the hallway, boots thudding against the floor and seemingly echoing off the walls. Sandman can almost hear his heartbeat as he feels the adrenaline begin to kick in.

Beneath it there is panic, and anger for how they really don’t have a fucking choice about leaving this place behind. He purposefully doesn’t think about how this is the only place he’s ever really been able to feel at home. The three guys beside him are the first family he’s known and he hates how everything they’ve built together is getting upended in a day.

When they make it to the entrance, Sandman feels his heart plummet to his stomach. The entire room is full of Dracs and ‘crows. There’s got to be at least fifty and there’s no doubt that there will be more arriving to back them up.

Fifteen is unfortunate but not impossible, but _this_ many? If Sandman had time to think about it he’d come to the undoubtable conclusion that they’re fucked. But he doesn’t. He just opens fire and ducks behind a cart left behind by one of the cleaners. 

It’s like shooting fish in a barrel, really. With all of the Dracs compressed into one room. Except they're being shot at by 50 people and there's only 4 of them.

A shot singes a path right by his face, close enough to feel like someone’s dug a fingernail across his cheek. Sandman hisses and quickly takes down the Drac responsible. 

He lets his eyes dart to the others for just a second, long enough to see that they’re all okay. Stakes is shooting from a kneeling position, his bad leg sorta stretched out to take some of the weight off. A little behind him, Benz has his blaster aimed. But he’s not shooting.

And Sadman scowls in frustration despite himself. Of all the times? He understands Benz’s thing about not wanting to hurt people, he gets it. He really does. But this is _literally_ life and death.

Sandman’s radio clicks to life, startling him so that he misses his next shot. Phantom thankfully comes over and moves to give him some cover.

“Sandman! Come in.”

“I’m here! I’m here! Are you guys out?”

There’s a too long pause and Sandman feels the dread begin to build inside of him. A blast grazes his shoulder and he growls from the burning pain. Phantom has the ‘crow down a few seconds later. Sandman tries to ignore the sting. He’s had worse. 

“Yes,” O’Neal’s voice filters through. “We’re in the tunnels now.”

The breath of relief he manages is enough to make his head light.

“Good. Any problems?”

“None. Everyone accounted for. Now get your asses out of there right now.”

He can’t help the laugh that rises from that. “Yes ma’am. Talk to you soon.”

He doesn’t wait for a response before standing back up and beginning to shoot again. Phantom sticks close by but Stakes and Benz are taking the lead now. 

“We’re good to go,” Sandman shouts.

Stakes is the first to turn and hurry past, followed by Phantom. Sandman shoots wildly as he waits for Benz to take off too. But something’s keeping him in place. He’s just standing there, his hand shaking and his blaster pointed at nothing. His frustration at him is building. This is part of their fucking _job_ description and their lives are at stake here. If that won’t get Benz to shoot his gun, then what _will_?

“Fucking shoot or run,” Sandman yells.

Benz flinches and looks back and forth between him and the Dracs. Sandman can’t hold this many off on his own much longer and if Benz doesn’t fucking _move_ then they’re both going to fucking die.

“Run!” 

Finally, Sandman is able to knock Benz out of it. He turns and he takes off in a sprint down the hall. Sandman fires a few more shots but the blasts are getting close enough to where they’re close enough to burn his clothes, not that he can feel the pain through the adrenaline pumping through him. He shoots down one more ‘crow before turning and bolting after the others.

Shots hit the walls around him and he has to duck as one nearly hits him in the head. But at last he turns the corner and catches up with the others. They don’t stop running but he can hear the thundering of the Dracs giving chase.

_____________________________

Benz knows that he fucked up. 

His heart is pounding as they race down the familiar halls. His blaster feels heavy in his hand, like it weighs a ton. He can’t get Sandman’s voice out of his head, yelling at him to just _do_ something.

What’s _wrong_ with him?

No one else has a problem with this. It’s just him. He’s the only fucking rebel who can’t seem to fire a gun without having a panic attack about it! And he’s certain that if they weren’t running for their lives for the second time today, he _would_ be having a panic attack. 

But, as it is, he’s too busy trying to support Stakes as they run to stop and let his panic take over. They’re almost at the entrance of the tunnel, only a few more turns and they’ll be safe. The tunnels have huge, locking doors that will take the Dracs hours to hack or break through. By the time they get through the doors, the three of them will be in the desert and out of reach. 

He hardly even registers that they’ve made it until Sandman is shouting at him again, telling him to go first. And it’s logical, he’s the weakest link, but the sharpness in Sandman’s voice stings anyway. If he had the energy, he’d snap back. But as of right now, he just listens and starts walking as the others come in one by one. Sandman is the last one again, staying back just long enough to set the lock on the inside before jogging to catch up with them.

There’s exactly a mile of tunnel before they reach the car, after that it’ll be less than an hour until they’re on the road to the safehouse.

Benz is shaking as they walk. His adrenaline is fading and he’s no longer panicking. But he’s pissed. Of all people, Sandman knows already that Benz just can’t bring himself to take a life. Even if it’s one of the City’s goons. It doesn’t matter. He can’t get past it. 

He’s killed exactly once before and it made him physically sick. He still has nightmares about pulling the trigger. It’s a fucking miracle he is even able to hold his gun anymore! But he does. Because as much as he hates the idea of hurting someone, he also can’t stand the thought of his crew being hurt. 

He had always assumed he’d be able to push through his mental block and do what he had to if it came down to it. But he wasn’t. He just _couldn’t_ do it. He couldn’t bring himself to pull the trigger. To end someone's life, even when they were putting his crew in danger. 

Maybe Sandman has a right to be pissed at him.

They arrive at the car with no more trouble. Sandman bee-lines to the driver’s seat and slams the door shut before any of them have the chance to even open their doors. 

Without a word, Benz climbs into the back with Stakes while Phantom takes the passenger seat. Years of knowing Sandman means that he knows better than to try and talk to him right now, when he’s bubbling up with anger and a spark away from exploding. That’ll only lead to a fight. He needs to give him the time to cool down. Then they can talk and hopefully, Sandman won’t be so upset with him anymore. 

Just like every time they’ve fought before, it still hurts. Benz hates that Sandman is glaring at him through the rearview mirror. That he’s gripping the steering wheel tightly and pushing the car to go too fast. As Benz sags against his seat, two claps worth of adrenaline finally leaving him, he sneaks a glance at Stakes. Thankfully, he receives a small, understanding smile. It doesn’t help much, but at least he knows that Stakes doesn’t hate him too. 

Benz is almost asleep, his head propped against the window, when the car suddenly comes to a stop. He’s nearly thrown from his seat because the seatbelts have been broken since they got it, but at the last second he manages to throw his arm out and catch himself against the back of the passenger seat.

He’s about to start griping about the unnecessary roughness, but Sandman is already jumping out of the car and slamming the door shut. Benz steps out too, confused.

They’re near the end of the tunnels and if he squints, he can see the harsh light of the desert at the end. The air here is chilly and it holds that strange scent of old rock and water. It’s what Benz imagines caves smell like, though he’s never been inside a real one. 

The Underground is, technically, man made. Back before the Wars, there was a big city here. He doesn’t know it’s name but that city had these tunnels underneath it for trains to carry people where they needed to go. There’s miles of tunnels that managed to survive both the Wars and Better Living. 

There were already some halfhearted attempts of settling down there when they found the place. It was somewhere the government couldn’t find you and so, there had been whispers of a safe place beneath the City where you could go if you needed to get away. Stakes was the one to hear the rumor and find this place. There were only a few dozen people there at the time, camping in the most shallow tunnels. 

In just over twenty years, they’ve managed to create one the largest safehouses fighting against the City. There were hundreds of people who lived there permanently, people like the them who gave up what was left of their lives in the City and moved down. Others chose to come and go. Showing up for supplies when times are tough, medical treatment so they won’t be dosed with pills, and even for work. 

It baffles Benz that in the span of a few hours all of those people he knew have had to be evacuated. He knew something like this would happen eventually. They’ve literally been right underneath the City’s nose this entire time. But it’s taken him by surprise anyway. 

And when he sees Sandman take the small detonator out of his pocket, it really begins to sink in.

Everything he’s worked for for the past two decades is about to be destroyed. His lab. All of the books that he’s been collecting. Every drawing he has taped up on the wall in his office that one of the kids made for him while he gave them a checkup. 

All of the memories. Every time he chucked something at Sandman’s head because he made a dirty joke. Or the one time that Stakes found a whole box of confetti streamers and decided to “redecorate” Benz’s room. 

He almost laughs out loud from the memory of Phantom happily sitting with some of the younger kids and having tea parties with them. Benz will often let them use some of his tea, it’s not like he doesn’t have enough to share, and sometimes he’ll even sit with them. It’s nice, he has to admit. To forget about all of the things he’s supposed to be doing and just get to be a kid again. 

But that’s all about to be gone now. The other two got out of the car at some point and are standing on either side of him. Sandman stands with his back to them, facing down the way they’ve come. 

Benz holds his breath. He knows this is necessary. If the City gets their hands on the information that they have down there, shit like their real names and the plans they’ve made, then it’s over for real. They have to cut their losses. Better to live and fight another day, right?

That doesn’t stop Benz from flinching as Sandman pushes the button.

The explosion doesn’t happen for another two seconds, the longest of his life. But when it does, the whole ground feels like it’s shaking beneath them. They’re far enough away by now that this part of the tunnel won't collapse. Stakes had reassured them of that many times. 

But that's what Benz is going to blame for the way he backs up against the car. He tries to breathe deeply, to not focus on the horrible sound of the only place he’s called home being blown to pieces. It doesn’t work. 

Phantom is the first to notice and his hand is on Benz’s shoulder before he has the chance to take another gasping breath. Stakes comes closer too, his expression carefully blank. There’s tears in his eyes as well. 

“Oh, so _now_ you give a shit?” Sandman barks as he turns to face them, throwing the detonator behind him with a snarl. 

Benz is still too busy gasping for air to really answer. But it doesn’t matter, Sandman is already storming past them and throwing himself into the driver’s seat. 

“The fuck is his _problem_?” Stakes remarks, rolling his eyes.

“Doesn’t matter. We should go.”

Phantom then takes Benz’s arm and guides him into his seat again. He’s breathing now, he thinks. But his head is rushing from the weight of what just fucking happened. How Sandman just snapped at him, his eyes dark and angry. It scares him a little, honestly. He hasn’t seen his best friend like this since, well since they first met. 

Sandman was always so full of anger. Always has been. But before they met, he’d get into fights with Dracs just for the fun of it. Just to fight. Benz just got lucky and ended up being his doctor. 

Yet somehow that angry kid turned out to be the most warm hearted, kindest person that he’s ever met. 

Sandman has grown up a lot over the years and he’s learned how to control his anger better, they both have. But something about right now feels like the beginning again.

When Sandman would give some shitty excuse for why he was hurt all the time and Benz, even through the haze of the drugs, eventually snapped at him. They fought about why Sandman felt the need to put himself into those situations. And they stopped talking for a while afterwards. 

But Benz got an influx of patients who had a bad allergic reaction to some new pills and, ironically, put himself into withdrawal. He doesn’t remember knocking on Sandman’s door. All he knows is that he woke up on his couch one morning and never left.

So maybe he should expect Sandman to snap a little today, given everything. But that doesn’t mean he’s not pissed about how childish he’s acting. 

If he has a problem then he should just _tell_ him.

Because Benz doesn’t get it. Sandman knows damn well that he’s never been able to use his gun. Practicing is different than aiming at an actual person. Someone who has thoughts and feelings, who will _feel_ the shot that Benz puts in them. And he just _can’t_ do it. 

Before he knows it, Benz is wiping angry tears away with the sleeve of his stupid yellow jacket. The one he didn’t have time to change out of because he was too busy packing up the essentials. He has a bag in the trunk, full of emergency clothes. They all do. But he doubts Sandman will stop to let him change. 

Phantom bumps their shoulders, making him glance over. He gives Benz a worried look.

“Are you okay?”

He nods, not trusting himself to speak. In the front, Sandman laughs.

“Sandman,” Phantom warns lowly.

“What? He’s allowed to nearly fuck up th’ whole plan and _I_ get in trouble for laughing?”

Something about Sandman's voice seems off, almost like he’s slurring. But he’s not drunk, he hasn’t had _time_ to drink since before their run to the hospital. Which must have only been a few hours but, still. 

“You’re not in trouble,” Phantom says amicably, in that peacekeeper tone that’s stopped many fights before they’ve started. “But you need to take a breath and stop lashing out.”

He wraps an arm around Benz properly, offering what comfort he can. 

“If it matters,” Benz speaks up hesitantly. “I was trying to shoot… but I just- I couldn’t. I don’t know why. But I just couldn’t do it.”

For a second, he actually thinks he got through to him, but then Sandman snorts. 

Before he has the chance to answer they’re coming through the end of the tunnel into the near-blinding sunlight of the desert. He doesn’t have time to stare at it in awe, like he wants to. Sandman is stepping on the breaks less than a mile later and throwing his door open again. He stalks out to the front of the car, leaving the three of them sitting there in a stunned silence. 

“Okay, I ask again, the _fuck_ is his problem?” Stakes asks, frowning as he watches Sandman through the windshield.

“Maybe he finally snapped?”

Phantom punches Benz’s arm a bit too hard to be playful. “I think he’s just overwhelmed.”

“Should we… talk to him?” 

“Probably,” Phantom sighs in response to Benz’s question. “Normally I’d let him stew it out on his own, but we really don’t have time for this.”

This time, Benz is the first one out of the car. The sun blinds him instantly, making his eyes water as he squints to try and see where he’s going. He shrugs off his jacket too, the extra layer already proving to be too much in this heat.

Fuck. Did the Four ever mention how fucking hot it is out here? He’s pretty sure they never mentioned it being this hot.

Nevertheless, Benz does in fact make it to the front of the car to stand beside Sandman and doesn’t, unfortunately, turn into a melted puddle from the radiation. Bummer.

Sandman turns his head the other way, staring off into the distance. His jaw is set hard and his arms are wrapped tightly across his chest. He looks pissed. _More_ than pissed. 

“Sandman I-”

“Save it,” He spits. “You had your chance and you didn’t take it.”

Benz flinches and fights the urge to walk away. Phantom and Stakes are standing a few feet away, giving them space but staying close enough to help should things go south. Which, he doesn’t _think_ Sandman would actually hurt him or anything, but he’s also never seen him this angry.

“Chance for _what_?” He asks, instead of saying something childish back like he has half the mind to do. “Sandy, _please_ just talk to me.”

Sandman whirls to face him, his face set hard as he throws his arm in the direction of the tunnel.

“Your chance to defend your _home_! You had the chance to help us keep everyone safe, and you didn’t do anything but _stand_ there!”

“Sand-”

“I don’t want another fuckin’ _excuse_ , Benz,” Sandman raves. “We all do shit that’s hard so that the people who _depend_ on us are safe. But if the three of us weren’t there with you, you _still_ wouldn’t have even fired a single fucking shot would you?”

“That’s not fair.”

“Is it? Oh right. I forgot that you think you’re above all the rules.”

Benz gapes at him. “ _Me_? I’m not the spoiled little rich kid who used his parents money so he could see a doctor every time he decided to rile up a Drac for attention.”

The look that Sandman gives him is dark. If Benz wasn’t furious now, he’d probably step back.

“At least I _had_ a life. Before me you just went to work and were a perfect little citizen. I bet you never even _wanted_ to give that up. You had everything you could have wanted. You didn’t have to suck up to your parents or hear people call you a disappointment because you were too fuckin’ depressed to go to class.”

“You think I was _happy_?” Benz demands. “I didn’t even know they drugged me. I didn’t _want_ any of that. I was miserable.” Now it’s his turn to gesture to the tunnels. “That place gave me the life I didn’t even know _existed_ when I lived in the City. If you’d get off your own fucking pitty train for ten seconds maybe you’d _know_ that!”

“Right. Because today isn’t the first time you’ve nearly fucked things up for us. Every single run we’ve ever _been_ on, I’ve had to make sure things would work with three people because I knew damn well you weren’t going to do _shit_ to help. You just tag along, act all fuckin’ smart, but you don’t pull your own weight.”

“Do you _forget_ all the times we’ve had to write _you_ out of runs because we were going to be in contact with some form of Better Living pills and I couldn’t trust you to not shove them into your pockets the second I turned my back!”

Sandman takes a staggering step back, like he’s been hit. And Benz would feel bad but he’s fucking sick of Sandman acting like he’s the only one that fucks up. They _all_ have problems.The City fucked all four of them up and it’s not fair for him to blame Benz like he’s the only one.

“Fuck you,” Sandman growls. 

“So the second I throw something back, it’s my fault then? You can stand there and say all that shit to me but I can’t defend myself?”

Sandman goes like he’s about to reply but he staggers forward, his arm going out to catch himself on the hood of the car. But he misses and falls to the ground face first. Benz stands there for a few seconds, long enough to see Sandman make no move to get up.

He swears to God. If this is some dramatic fucking thing to make him apologize-

Phantom comes up beside him and squats down next to Sandman. He puts an arm on the back of his shoulder.

“Come on, dude. This isn’t funny. Just get up and you two can chew each other's heads off later.”

Sandman doesn’t answer. Phantom makes a quiet sound of confusion and irritation before turning Sandman over, far too easily. 

“Jesus fucking-”

Phantom pulls open Sandman’s jacket, revealing his blood soaked shirt and a nasty blaster wound in his stomach. Benz’s mind shuts off and he’s dropping down beside Phantom in an instant, already going into doctor mode and balling up his jacket to try and stop the bleeding.

Sandman moans in pain when he presses the fabric against the wound and Benz mutters an apology.

“Don’t move, dumbass. We need to get-”

“Get off!” Sandman shouts the second he hears Benz’s voice, throwing his arms out wildly.

One connects with the side of Benz’s face and he sits there frozen, more from the shock than the pain. 

“Sandy, you’re _hurt_ ,” Stakes tries to reason, now on Sandman’s other side as he attempts to hold him down. 

“I don’t want him to _touch_ me! Fuckin’ _traitor_!”

“Sandman,” Phantom finally snaps. “Shut the fuck up before you bleed out. You don’t know what you’re saying.” 

Benz can’t move. Sandman just continues to fight against the other’s hold on him, mumbling threats and accusations that he can’t make out. 

Unsure, Benz reaches forward again. He doesn’t know how long Sandman’s been bleeding but they _need_ to stop it before he fucking dies of blood loss. But the second he leans over, Sandman starts fighting back twice as hard and his insults start being coherent again.

“Someone fuckin’ sold us out!” he threatens, voice hoarse and eyes wide. “Why else wouldn’t you fight back?”

Benz stands up so fast he makes his head spin. “What the _fuck_! Do you seriously think I’d sell you out!”

“You were never a part of this,” Sandman says slowly, panting from exertion and the anger still boiling in his eyes. “You never _wanted_ to be. You’ve already fucked up everything so why are you even _here_?”

Benz takes a step back, more hurt than angry at this point. Does Sandman really believe that he’d just sell them out? That all those years of friendship didn’t mean _anything_ to him?

“Go! Fuck off. Tell whatever ‘crow you work for that you did your job!”

Benz takes another step away. Away from the person he thought was his best friend, the one person who understood him like no-one else did. But how long has he thought Benz was a traitor? How much of his friendship was fake?

“Benz,” Phantom tries, his tone pained. “That’s not-”

“It’s true,” Sandman growls, like he’s certain of it. 

And maybe Sandman is right about one thing. He doesn't’ have it in him to defend what he loves, who he loves. What if he _did_ fuck everything up today? What if this is all his fault?

Before he’s even made a conscious decision, he’s already turned around and sprinting in the other direction, leaving his crew behind in the dust. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aye, Jet and Kobra finally talk about the *almost* traffic report scene last fic. And this is a friendly reminder that Jet is non-binary and uses he/they pronouns! They have a bracelet that they wear that shows a different color for the different set of pronouns. (gonna look up exactly what i said those colors were bc it's been a while and i don't want to tell you guys the wrong colors. but yeah. non-binary jet star!)  
> Also, please feel free to shout at me in the comments for the pain this chapter. I know it was a little rough. (please don't be too mean though haha) I can assure you I was evil laughing while simultaneously being sad the Whole time. it was great.  
> So yeah, let me know what you think? Thank you all for reading and I will see you either next week or the week after!


	5. Bright lights, they cast a shadow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNINGS:  
> *graphic descriptions of injuries  
> *blood and gore

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Morning everyone!  
> This chapter has been in my head for a While and I'm really excited to share it with you!  
> Please read the trigger warnings in the chapter summary, this is a bit more graphic that what i usually do. Also, i apologize if any of the medical stuff isn't correct, i researched on a lot of it but bc people can't actually get shot by a laser, it's hard to know exactly what would happen. So, just keep an open mind haha  
> Huge thank you to @i-like-to-wander-around-here for all of her help as always <3  
> and once again, most of the youngblood's backstories and like, little details about them i've thrown in there, have come from mine and @Clocks-are-our-friends conversations. They've been a huge help with coming up with ideas for the youngbloods!  
> Okay, I hope you all enjoy!

The air around him is suffocating. Stinging beads of sweat fall into his eyes and he blinks diligently to try and clear his vision. He’s afraid to lift his hand to wipe the sweat away. Phantom watches through blurry vision as Sandman’s chest rises and falls in a shallow breath. It’s the only proof he has that his friend is still alive.

All that he can focus on is the steady pressure he’s keeping on the balled up jacket he’s pressing in his best friend’s stomach. The jacket that’s no longer a bright yellow color. It’s soaked with blood and Phantom makes a point to ignore the way the sand around Sandman is a deep red as well. His own arms and hands are covered too. His head swims with the thought of how _much_ there is. There shouldn’t _be_ this much blood, right?

“Has it stopped?” Stakes asks, his voice raw.

Neither of them have moved for… what must be nearly an hour now. Phantom had desperately wanted to go after Benz, to bring him back and assure him that Sandman was just being more of a dick than usual. That none of them really believe he would betray them. But as much as he wanted to jump up and chase after Benz, Phantom couldn't leave Sandman here to die.

Phantom manages to tear his eyes away from the blood soaked remains of Benz’s jacket, and instead searches Sandman’s face. 

There’s a smear of blood on his forehead, nearly hidden by the long, dark hair that’s falling around his face in greasy, sandy clumps. Phantom wonders when the last time was that Sandman actually washed it. It’s probably been a while, not that he can blame him for that. These past few weeks have been stressful for all of them. Sandman in particular has been bearing most of that weight, as the leader that's almost a given.

Stakes is kneeling in the sand, Sandman’s head in his lap. It's a simple attempt to make him more comfortable but it doesn't change the way Sandman’s features twist in a grimace, even while unconscious. Each breath that he takes seems to be more difficult than the last and Phantom swears that he’s nearly as pale as the sand beneath him. 

And he doesn’t know what to _do_. Sure, he has very basic medical knowledge. He can do stitches that’ll hold up enough to get the person to a doctor and he knows how to spot when one of his crewmates is getting sick, they each have tells for when they’re hiding not feeling well. But _this_? Gaping fucking blaster wounds in vital areas while they’re all stuck out in the middle of a fucking _desert_? Phantom has no _idea_ what he’s supposed to do to fix this. 

Hell, how the fuck did he _miss_ that Sandman was hurt?

A shot like this should have taken him down immediately. Phantom doesn’t understand how Sandman could have just- _continued_ on like nothing was _wrong_. Did he not realize? 

And, more than that, Phantom doesn’t know how to fix someone who’s injured and stupid enough to hide it until they literally fucking _drop_.

Should he move Sandman to the car? That way no sand gets into the wound? That way he doesn’t fry with the heat?

But then, they only have a little gas. So unless they want to be truly stuck here, staying in the car will just be even hotter than staying in the sun because they can’t use the AC without gas. And then comes the problem with moving him at all.

What if Phantom does manage to get the bleeding to stop and then they move him and it starts up again? How much more can Sandman even _afford_ to lose? The meager supplies that they packed in the med kit aren’t going to be enough, even he knows enough to tell that much. From what he remembers, they have what they need to stitch him up, a bottle of painkillers, burn cream, and some gauze. That’s _it_. And fuck- if Phantom had the time he’d probably be freaking out right now.

“What do we do?” Stakes asks, seeing as he never answered his first question.

It’s the fear beginning to seep into Stakes’ voice that helps Phantom to keep his own steady. Neither of them are going to be able to help Sandman if they’re freaking out. It’s surprisingly easy to shift his own panic and fear aside and make sure that the other two- even if one’s unconscious- are okay. 

“Once he stops bleeding,” Phantom asserts gently. “We’re gonna take a look at the damage. After that we… I guess we just try and make sure it’s clean and wrap him up.”

If Stakes notices his hesitation, he doesn’t point it out. Neither of them have ever treated an injury this bad on their own. Usually Benz is there to help, to ask them to hand him things if the situation is really dire. But they’re alone right now, so Phantom just tries to think of what Benz would do.

He lifts the jacket a little until just one corner of the wound is visible and waits to see if any more blood starts pouring again. Two seconds turn into ten, and nothing. Phantom breathes a heavy sigh of relief and carefully takes the jacket away. He remembers Benz saying something about how taking it off risks the bleeding starting again, but it looks like they’re in luck. 

Now that there’s no new blood, Stakes passes him a water bottle he doesn’t remember seeing and Phantom gets to work, carefully pouring it over the wound. 

He glances up as the first drops of water roll down Sandman’s side, catching the sand and blood caked to his skin. But Sandman remains completely unconscious, not even twitching. So Phantom works as quickly as he dares, pouring the water incrementally over the worst of the mess. 

With all the blood and burnt flesh gone, Phantom was hoping that it wouldn't look that bad. That he could just slap a bandage over it, call it a day, and be yelling at Sandman by dark. But he’s wrong, of course. 

Sandman’s stomach has more burns than clear skin, with the worst of the angry red burns reaching down to just past his navel. The hole itself is near dead center, right below where his ribs end. Even after the water was poured over it, the area is charred and black. It’s a fucking _miracle_ he’s alive and Phantom is both ready to kill him himself, and to start thanking the first deity that comes to mind at how lucky they are that he’s still breathing. 

Upon further inspection, he can tell that the wound is deep. It's likely from a close range shot, if he had to guess, and Phantom can also see that the water didn’t get all of the sand out. There's still some grains stubbornly stuck in a few places.

But they can’t spare any more water, not if they want some to drink any time in the near future, but he also doesn’t dare pick the sand out with his fingers. He lifts his head to glance at Stakes for his opinion.

Phantom hesitates as he watches Stakes gently run his hand through Sandman’s hair, pulling carefully at any tangles he encounters. The worry is etched deep into his expression but Phantom doesn’t have anything to say that could make things better. Either way, Stakes looks up when he feels Phantom’s eyes on him. There are tears in his eyes but his expression is carefully neutral now.

This isn’t the first time they’ve had to fix Sandman after he’s been stupid. (Just the first time without Benz here to help them.)

“Are there tweezers or anything in the kit?” Phantom asks hopefully, instead of saying the million other things that are running through his mind.

Stakes scrunches his face and turns to rummage through the kit laying beside him in the sand. It only takes him a second to look back up and shake his head, no. Phantom curses and tries again to figure out what Benz would do in this situation.

Will using his fingers just make it worse? It’s not like they’re exactly clean, though most of the blood and shit was rinsed off with the water. Still, he knows better than to just go digging around in an open wound.

“We gotta get the sand out,” Stakes supplies, though it’s impossible to tell if he’s telling him to go for it or warning him.

“Benz will be back soon,” Phantom decides. “He can hold on long enough for him. And then he’ll know what to do. I don’t wanna make it worse.”

Stakes nods and hands him the bandage and burncream when he asks. Phantom knows better than to put it on the main part of the wound, but he does rub the burn cream on the outside of it, the parts that’re red and blistered. He takes extra care to be gentle as he works it into Sandman’s skin. Even if he's not awake to feel it.

Then he takes the bandage and slowly sets it over the wound, careful not to press it down. He sits back on his heels after and wipes his face with the back of his wrist. He’s soaked with sweat and shaky from exhaustion and lingering panic. But he’s more concerned with figuring out what they're going to do next to dwell on that for too long.

“We should get ‘im out of the heat,” Stakes suggests with a thumb jerking back to point at the car, as if he was reading Phantom’s mind.

“Can you get the door? We can lay him out in the back.”

Stakes carefully slips Sandman’s head out of his lap before hurrying over to open the back door. In the meantime, Phantom slides one arm under Sandman’s shoulders and the other under his knees. Lifting him is easy, as always, but the way his head lulls as he carries him hurts something deep inside Phantom.

It’s not like he’s never seen one of his own hurt before. Hell, Stakes and Sandman basically have competitions on who can do the dumbest shit without dying. Like seeing who could get away with putting a "kick me" sticker on an Exterminator’s back (Sandman won but he broke three ribs in the process). They’ve both jumped in front of blasts for others. Stakes once tried to mouth off directly to an Exterminator ( a different one than the “kick me” note) so Benz could sneak past with the shit they were stealing. He’s lucky he only left that encounter with a graze in his arm. When they got home, Phantom nearly _killed_ him for how stupid of a decision that was.

But this, this is _different_. Because he can’t make the panic recede by telling Sandman how much of an absolute _moron_ he is. And even if he _was_ awake for Phantom to yell at him about this, there’s still that whole heaping mess of Sandman and Benz’s fight.

Should he just stay out of it? Let them make up on their own?

They’ve always had a different sort of connection with each other than what the four of them have together. They’re… closer, in a sense. It’s no wonder so many people think they’re together, they’re practically joined at the hip. Hell, they have their own language almost. 

Phantom can usually tell a lot about his crewmates by just looking at them, but Sandman and Benz take it to a whole other level. Sometimes it’s like they’re having entire conversations without saying a word, as if they just forgot to say things out loud. It’s freaky but it’s something they’ve done since he met them. They’ve always been extremely close.

So, seeing them fight like this… _hearing_ the unwavering conviction in Sandman’s voice- like he _believes_ that Benz gave them up- it-

“I’ll drive,” Stakes says from behind him, placing a hand on his shoulder and startling him from his thoughts.

Phantom didn’t even realize he had been standing there with the back door open, watching Sandman breathe shallowly as his mind raced. But Stakes is probably in better shape to drive than he is. His head’s too full, his thoughts going too fast for him to pin them down long enough to focus on driving them someplace safe.

But they do manage to catch on one thought.

“What about Benz?”

If they leave, Benz might come back and not be able to find them. But, if they stay, Sandman is only going to get worse.

Stakes all but moves Phantom out of the way so he can close the door, before guiding him into the passenger’s seat. Phantom tries to cooperate but it’s like his head’s floating off without him while his body tries to move underwater. It’s not until Stakes has already shut the door and gotten into the driver’s side that he answers.

“I don’t think he plans on comin’ back,” Stakes says, almost like an apology. “I mean- they’ve never fought like that before and I-”

“It was different,” Phantom supplies.

“Yeah. I don’t like the thought of him out there on his own but if we stay here Sandman doesn’t have a chance. We- we should be able to find someplace to stay before we run out of gas. There are a lot of abandoned buildings and shit out here, yeah?”

Phantom nods, unable to do anything else.

“Exactly,” Stakes says, sounding way more confident than Phantom feels. “We’ll find somewhere safe to stay and then one of us can take the car and look for Benz. And once the two idiots are back together, we force them to hug it out.”

Phantom huffs out a laugh despite himself. If only it was going to be that easy.

______________________________

The sun has now been added to Benz’s, surprisingly short, list of enemies. It clocks in just below Better Living, though if he stays out here much longer it’s going to probably move higher up the list.

He rarely saw it when he worked in the City. Most of the time he worked through the day and well into the night, so if he did catch a glimpse of the fake sun projected onto the top of the dome, it was usually right as it was setting. You can’t really get sunburns in the City either but now he’s pretty sure that his skin is quite literally burning as he walks. 

It’s not painful yet though. So at least there’s that.

He’s trying to keep a list. The stuff that’s not so bad about wandering alone in the desert. 

The cacti he keeps passing are… kinda cute, he guesses. If he squints. 

And there's been a couple of lizards that’ve scuttered out from under rocks as he walked by. Those are slightly more cute. Though, he fears they may be following him just to eat him when he inevitably collapses. 

So… he guesses that that can go in both columns. Other not so great things about being lost: he doesn’t have any water. 

It wasn’t like he _planned_ on this happening. How could he have known that Sandman would get so mad at him and then proceed to scream at him while hiding a fucking blaster wound?

And, to top all of that off, he had originally planned on just walking away to cool off. Then, when he didn’t want to strangle Sandman anymore, he’d come back level headed enough to deal with everything. He’s fixed up people before who were a lot meaner than Sandman had been. But that’s just the thing. It’s _Sandman_. His best and oldest friend. The fucker is like, the only reason Benz isn’t still a mindless slave to Better Living.

And Benz had been so caught up in his swirling thoughts and the anger that was fizzing out, turning into a heavy kind of hurt that makes it hard to breathe, that he’d walked much farther than he’d intended. He’s now very lost. _Hopelessly_ lost. And it’s his own fault.

In every direction there’s just more sand. He can see mountains though, way off in the distance. They’re just a dark smudge against the horizon, reaching tall and spanning far in either direction. He can’t tell where they begin or end. He didn’t even know that they were there. He doesn’t know what they're called either but a part of him wants to see them. It’s the scientist in him, always curious. He wonders if there’s people there. If they’ve managed to stay hidden from Better Living all this time. 

If it weren’t so far away and he wasn’t having to nearly drag himself with every step, Benz might have been able to convince himself that he could make it. 

As it is, he turns away from the mountains, and tries to walk back the way he came. That’s the only sense of direction that he has, away from the mountains. It’s not much but, if he’s lucky, then he’ll be able to make it back to his crew.

But will they want him?

Benz wants to argue that yes, of _course_ they want him. They’re his family. He would do literally anything for them.

Except fire his gun.

He shakes his head hard, shaking loose the little voice in his head that keeps whispering shit like that. It only really succeeds in making the throbbing in his head worse. 

Ideally, he knows he has a couple of days before dehydration takes him. Maybe less, seeing as he’s far from used to conditions like this. Not to mention the fact that he doesn’t have any food or shelter or- well anything to protect him. 

How do desert rebels _do_ this?

Is it always like this? So… deadly?

As he rakes his dry eyes over the horizon, all he can make out are a few sand dunes. He’s not sure if he passed them before. They look pretty large, a bit darker in color than the sun bleached, loose sand at his feet. The same sand he’s always stumbling and sliding on. 

Benz sighs, cringing at the disgusting grating feeling of sand in his mouth. He’s getting lightheaded, he realizes. Though he’s not sure which of the things currently killing him slowly is causing it. If he had the energy to spare, he might have tried to pick out which one. But he has to focus on each step that he takes, every so often glancing behind him to make sure the mountains are still there. 

He tries not to think about much. If he lets his thoughts drift again- to thoughts of how badly Sandman is hurt and how these kinds of conditions will only make him worse- then he’ll never make it back. 

___________________________________

“There!” Stakes shouts, leaning over the steering wheel and pointing. 

Phantom pries his eyes open from where he’d been, admittedly, almost asleep. But he’s wide awake the second that he spots a small building less than a mile away. _Shelter_. 

It’s only a few minutes until Stakes is parking the car a few feet away from the building. Up close it looks less inviting. The only window it has is broken, glass laying shattered and half buried in the sand that’s piled up against the side. The outer walls are faded from the sun, impossible to tell the original color painted onto the cement. But the door looks sturdy enough and it’s going to have to do.

“Stay here with him. I’ll check it out,” Stakes instructs, already reaching for his gun and opening the door.

But Phantom hasn’t forgotten how much his leg was bothering him earlier. Just because they’ve been focusing on Sandman and Benz, doesn’t mean he’s about to let Stakes injure himself further. 

“I’ve got it.”

“I can do it,” Stakes interjects, motioning half-heartedly with his blaster. 

“I know. But you shouldn’t be walking on your leg after earlier. I’ve got it.”

He looks like he’s about to protest and Phantom isn’t afraid of grabbing the keys and locking him inside the car. But, after a long moment, Stakes sighs and nods.

“I’ll be right back,” Phantom tells him as he pulls his own gun and slides out of the car.

His boots slide on the sand with each step, throwing off his balance just enough to mean that it’ll affect his aim. He hopes no one is actually here. Two firefights is enough for one day.

When he gets to the shed, Phantom reaches out and turns the door handle. The old metal creaks but when he presses his elbow against the wooden door, it swings open with little resistance. He counts to three before turning into the doorway and aiming his gun inside.

Phantom frowns. It’s too dark and his eyes haven't had time to adjust yet, but no-one is shooting at him so that’s a good sign. He takes a step forward, onto the cement floor with a thud. The sound seems to echo in the small area. It’s clearly empty. 

As his eyes finally adjust, Phantom comes to realize that this is just a one room building. Maybe it used to be someone’s home? But this is much too small to be a house. He can almost touch the walls if he stands in the middle and reaches out his arms. Aside from that though, the place seems to be secure. 

And cool, he notes. It’s at least 20 degrees cooler in here than it is outside. 

Phantom takes a breath to push down the lingering nerves before holstering his gun and jogging back to the car. Stakes opens his door as he comes over and Phantom leans down to talk to him.

“It’s clear. Nothin’ but sand from the broken window.”

“Thank fuck,” Stakes sighs with a relieved smile.

Phantom steps aside as he opens the door and slides out of the car. Though, he makes it only a step before the weight on his bad leg causes it to buckle. He would have hit the sand but Phantom manages to catch him before he faceplants. Stakes lets out a nervous, but thankful chuckle.

He tries to take another step and curses sharply under his breath as he takes a shaky breath. He’s clearly in pain but Phantom knows from experience that he’s only going to let him help so much. Sandman isn’t the only stubborn little shit that Phantom has the pleasure of knowing. 

“Let me help,” he insists, lifting Stakes’ arm over his shoulder so he can at least take some of the weight off.

It’s a slow process and by the time they’re hobbling through the door, they’re both sweating even more than they were before. Stakes is almost sickly looking in the dim light from the open door as Phantom lowers him down. He’s shaking too, either from the pain he’s in or everything that’s happened today. Probably both.

Phantom rests a hand on his shoulder and waits until Stakes lifts his head. 

“I’ll be right back. Don’t get up until I can get a look at your leg.”

Stakes nods and only then does Phantom head back out to get Sandman. He finds him in the exact same position as he left him, lying out long ways in the back seat with his shirt and jacket pulled away to reveal the, thankfully still white, bandage. He looks… dead. 

That thought sends a shockwave through Phantom. Because he’s seen Sandman not breathing before. And it was one of the worst moments of his life. It was only once, only for just a few minutes. Benz had brought him back quickly, cursing him the whole time for being so stupid, but it is still something that Phantom has nightmares about.

The situations are different, if only because he’s been shot in the stomach this time, but Phantom leans over and watches until he sees Sandman’s chest rise in a shallow breath. It’s barely anything, almost worse than it was before, but it’s _something_. It’s proof that he’s alive and Phantom is going to take it. 

Carefully, he scoops Sandman into his arms. He can’t stand the way his stomach lurches when Sandman’s head lulls again, so he maneuvers him so he’s resting his head on his shoulder instead. 

Kicking the car door shut with his boot, Phantom hurries inside. He doesn’t want Sandman exposed to the heat any longer than he has to be. 

Once inside, he gently deposits him beside Stakes in the center of the room. Phantom makes sure that the bandage is still in place and that he’s not bleeding again. With that done, it seems, for now, all they can really do is wait. 

But _fuck_ \- he hates waiting on shit like this.

“How’s he doin’?” Stakes questions, already moving Sandman’s head into his lap again.

If Phantom squints, he might be able to pretend that this is just Sandman taking a nap and being all cuddly like he usually is. 

“Practically better already.” 

This makes Stakes snort because, clearly, he’s not better, but Phantom thinks it’s better than admitting the truth. That without Benz, their chances of keeping Sandman alive are… very slim should something go wrong.

Phantom clears his throat and stands again. “I’m gonna get our supplies, see how much water and shit we have. We dunno how long we’re gonna be here.”

“Be safe.”

Phantom smiles. “Will do.” 

He turns back around after one step and points a serious finger at Stakes. “And don’t get up. If you fall I’m going to let you lay there.”

It’s an idle threat, they both know it, but it serves its purpose. Stakes nods solemnly and stretches his bad leg out, as if to prove that he’s not going anywhere.

Phantom tries to hurry anyway.

___________________________

Night seems to fall rapidly. One moment they’re sweating their asses off and the next they’re pressing up against each other to fight off the cold.

And Phantom understood that the desert gets cold at night, he just didn’t think it’d get _this_ cold. Even with Sandman laying beside him, he’s shivering. Stakes is too, he can see through the dim light of the moon shining in through the broken window. Sandman, of course, isn’t moving. Phantom doesn’t know if that’s a good thing or a bad thing. 

“Do we have anything we can burn?” Phantom asks, trying to keep his teeth from chattering.

“Dunno. Maybe th’ clothes would work? But it won’t last long. Be more of a waste than anything.”

Phantom hums in acknowledgement. Stakes is right, burning their clothes will only make a fire for an hour at most. Definitely not long enough to get them through the night. 

“Did we pack anything warm?” he questions aloud, trying to remember what they shoved into the wooden trunk.

“Maybe?”

“I’m gonna look. Before we freeze to death.”

Phantom drags himself up, immediately missing the warmth of Sandman by his side. He tries to hurry as he shuffles around in the near darkness until he finds the pile he made in the corner. 

They only brought a few outfits each, enough to be disguised if they were on the run. Now he just hopes that they thought ahead enough to pack something with long sleeves.

He has to fiddle with the lock a few times to get it to open but then the old wood is creaking as he flings it open. Inside are four rows of clothes, one for each of them, carefully folded. Benz must have been the one to pack then, seeing as he’s the only one of them who folds this neatly. Somehow, that makes a pang shoot through Phantom.

This is the longest he’s been away from Benz in… in years. It’s made even worse because he can’t communicate with him and he doesn’t even know where he is.

Wait.

Phantom curses his own stupidity under his breath and fumbles around until he unclips his radio from his belt. Stakes looks up as he presses the talk button and static jumbles through the radio.

“Benz?” he hurries. “Benz c’mon I know you can hear me.”

Nothing.

_Can_ he hear him?

Is it possible he got out of range already?

“Benz, look I understand if you don’t wanna answer right now. But we- we found somewhere ‘t stay the night. It’s just a few miles away, you can’t miss it. I just-”

Phantom falters. He has no idea if Benz can actually hear him and he doesn’t want to risk giving away where they are. 

“Just,” He tries again. “Just please take care of yourself out there.”

He wants to say more but the words won’t come out. Phantom lets the arm holding his radio drop and he takes a long breath to try and clear his head.

He only allows himself a few moments before he’s snatching up all of the long sleeved clothes in the trunk and carrying them over to Stakes and Sandman. He drops them at Stake’s feet with a quiet thump.

Phantom crouches down and finds a thick long sleeved shirt and passes it over to Stakes wordlessly. He takes it with a tight lipped smile and shrugs it on top of his other clothes. 

“Warmer?” Phantom asks without looking up, searching for something they can just lay over Sandman. 

“Much.”

Finally he spots a heavy sweater that’ll do the job nicely. It’s one of Phantom’s so he’s able to fold it in half and still it covers Sandman’s entire lower half. He then straightens back up and hands Stakes a shirt, that he proceeds to ball up as a pillow for Sandman. 

The only thing left is a plain grey hoodie that Phantom pulls over his head. Or- starts to before Stakes clears his throat loudly. When Phantom looks over, Stakes gives him a stern look.

“What?” He asks, genuinely not following.

Stakes rolls his eyes. “How long have you been wearing it today?”

Phantom blinks and looks down. It takes a second, but he’s pretty sure he put his binder on yesterday, right before they went on the run. He doesn’t really bother wearing it all the time when they stay home. But whenever they go out he always puts one on, a quiet reminder for himself that the City can’t control him anymore. As if his entire life isn’t one big rebellion.

But it’s been nearly 24 hours now and, now that he’s thinking about it, he’s definitely been wearing his binder for too long. Benz would probably give him a lecture about it, if he were here.

“Sorry,” Phantom mutters.

“Do you want me to-”

Phantom just shakes his head and turns around so his back is facing the other two. He quickly sheds the shirt and jacket he had on, before pulling the binder off as well. He takes a couple deep breaths, shivering even harder from the cold, before putting his shirt and jacket back on. He turns back to Stakes as he pulls the hoodie on as well. 

“Feel better?” Stakes asks.

“Yeah, thanks.”

Stakes smiles and Phantom finally remembers that he had planned on checking on his leg earlier. 

“Can I?” he asks, motioning towards the leg Stakes has stretched out awkwardly.

He nods and Phantom scoots closer so he can poke and prod to see if he’s made it worse. Really, it was just an overstretched muscle according to Benz. But they didn’t have the time for Stakes to actually rest it so it would heal properly. He lasted about a week on bedrest before they got wind of the Four’s plan to invade the City to get the Girl back. 

So it’s not really a surprise that he’s not completely healed but Phantom just hopes that he hasn’t made it worse from all the running they’ve done today.

He pokes along the back of Stakes’ calf until he reaches the point directly below the back of his knee. Stakes’ leg jumps when he presses against a tender spot and Phantom is quick to apologize, even though he has to continue poking around the area to make sure nowhere new has been injured.

“Is the pain worse?” He questions as he works.

“Not really. Same as it’s been.”

Phantom hums. He might not be a doctor but this was one thing he managed to pick up from Benz’s many ramblings. He’s confident that he can at least determine that Stakes hasn’t made his leg any worse. Though he’s probably made his recovery a lot longer. 

“Doesn’t look any worse for wear to me,” he says, sitting back. “But you should probably keep off of it for as long as you can.”

Stakes looks down to Sandman. “Gonna be hard to do. If Benz doesn’t come back… we _can’t_ just- if we stay here he won’t make it.”

Phantom hates that Stakes is right. If Benz isn’t back by the morning then they’re going to have to make some calls. He doesn’t like Sandman’s chances of surviving without finding _someone_ who has decent medical knowledge who can take a look at him. 

Hell, if it comes down to it, maybe they can get into contact with the Four. They should still be with the others from the Underground. So they could also probably bring some supplies and things with them. Jet’s been sort of shadowing Benz lately, maybe they’ll be able to help. 

“Until then,” he says, decisively. “We should just hunker down here. I don’t want to move either of you more than I have to.”

Stakes rolls his eyes. “I’m not the moron who hid a blaster wound like _that_.”

He gestures sharply to Sandman.

Phantom has to take a deep breath. He understands why Stakes is upset with Sandman, _he’s_ upset with him too, but he also can see it from Sandman’s side. They were in an emergency situation. Adrenaline was high and Sandman has always been the type to put his own safety below others. If he even realized he was hurt in the first place.

Until they can talk to him, figure out what was going on in his head, Phantom wants to keep an open mind.

“I know,” Phantom admonishes. “Trust me, the second he wakes up I’m gonna figure shit out. But for right now, we need to get the damage under control. We can yell at him when he’s not unconscious. Fair?”

“I just- I don’t think Benz is gonna come back,” Stakes admits slowly, as if it hurts him to say.

“Why do you think that?”

“Because,” he says in an I-told-you-so sort of way. “You _heard_ the shit he said to Benz. If I was him I wouldn’t come back. And I sure as hell wouldn’t want to help the guy who basically said twenty some years of friendship weren’t worth anything.”

“Stakes,” Phantom says, not quite scolding. “He wasn’t thinking when he said that shit. There’s no way he believes Benz would give us up. He always says shit he doesn’t mean when he’s upset.”

He _hopes_ that Sandman didn’t mean it. 

“That doesn’t mean Benz didn’t take it to heart.”

Phantom’s argument fizzes out. Because Stakes is right. It doesn’t matter if Sandman meant it or not. He still said it. The hurt had been visible in Benz’s face and yeah… Phantom can see why Benz wouldn’t want to come back.

But, at the same time. This is _Benz_. He and Sandman are practically joined at the hip. They’re literally inseparable and Phantom tries to hold onto that, to prove that one really bad fight won’t destroy their relationship. Because it won’t, right?

“We should take turns keeping watch,” Phantoms says quietly, hoping Stakes won’t question the obvious change in conversation.

He gives Phantom a frown, like he’s telling him this isn’t over, but nods. “Get some sleep,” He continues. “I’ll wake you up when it’s time to switch.”

____________________________________

A few hours have passed. Phantom probably would be bored out of his mind in any other situation, but his thoughts are racing now that there’s not much else for him to focus on. 

It’s dark now, really dark. He can barely see the outline of Stakes against the shadows that surround them. Sandman is nothing but a gentle weight in his lap. 

He listens to the sound of Stakes snoring and keeps one hand against Sandman’s chest to make sure he’s breathing. His other hand is wrapped tightly around his gun. He doesn’t know how far the nearest killjoys are, but he doesn’t want to risk them finding them. With them, a lot of the time it’s shoot first and ask questions later, especially with the chaos that’s been erupting in the zones over the past month.

Any ‘joys that find them may assume by their City clothes that they’re the enemy. 

He wonders absently if the Four are worried about the same thing. They’re hopefully with all the others and safety in number and all that. But if they run into a bunch of ‘joys, will they just be allowed to stay? Surely the stubborn desert rebels wouldn’t be too happy that a large group of City people are trying to inhabit one of the few shelters out here. 

Sandman had thought of that, of course, when they were making these plans. He even had a speech of sorts, explaining that they’re all fighting for the same thing. Phantom had thought it was a bit too much at the time, seeing as it was long before they met the Four and understood the desert rebel’s point of view in this all. 

The Four had seemed shocked by the Underground, by how many people were really down there. And it made Phantom take a step back. 

Did the killjoys even know the Underground existed? The Four had acted like it was something out of a legend, like they didn’t believe it was real until they saw it for themselves. 

He thinks back to just the other night. Jet and The Girl had somehow convinced him to help them pull a prank on Ghoul. Something about him deserving it after something he’d done back in the desert. Phantom didn’t ask questions. 

He just used his key to unlock the storage room and let Jet and the Girl gather the things they needed. They’d been ecstatic about it, really. And Phantom had, yet again, realized that simple things like a storage room was something that they weren’t used to. He had asked Jet about it later, what they normally used for pranks and things.

Jet told him that most of the time, it was whatever was handy. They had to get crafty and sometimes it was as simple as pouring sand in one of the other’s beds. 

It’s strange to think about, but as much as he’s seen the Four out of their depth in the Underground, it’s still a shock to his system to realize just how privileged he’s been. He’s certain the Four have electricity and actual food and stuff, but his current predicament has been a hard truth of just how much the desert rebels have been struggling.

And, if Sandman were awake, he'd probably be thinking the same thing. He’d go on some long winded explanation of how they should do better, should help out the people in the desert rather than just keeping it to themselves in the Underground. And Phantom would have to agree. 

They hate how the City hoards supplies but, really when you look at it from the desert rebel’s perspective, they were hoarding too. 

Phantom sighs, pushing that idea away for another time. Some time when Sandman isn’t unconscious and can actually help them come up with ideas.

When he readjusts Sandman’s head so his neck won’t get stiff from the awkward angle, Phantom’s fingers brush his bare skin. He expected him to be freezing, considering how much blood he lost and the freezing temperatures. But his skin is burning up.

Frowning, Phantom sits up completely and presses the back of his hand to Sandaman’s forehead. Maybe he was wrong. Maybe it was just a mistake. 

But with Phantom’s hand against his forehead, it’s impossible to deny the heat radiating off of him.

Fucking _hell_.

There’s no way this is just from the jacket draped over him as a blanket. Phantom’s stomach drops as he remembers the sand that he couldn’t get out of the wound. Can infection really set in _this_ fucking fast? It’s only been a few hours. 

Shaking, Phantom leans over to pull away the layers covering the bandage on Sandman’s middle. He curses out loud when he pulls the already stained bandage away to reveal the red, angry burn in his stomach. It’s swollen up, oozing some gross looking shit. It’s _bad_ and Phantom’s hands just hover over it because he doesn’t know what to _do_.

Sandman's skin is almost burning to the touch and, in the very dim light of the moon, Phantom can see faint bruises beginning to appear underneath his blistered skin. And he _knows_ what that means. Knows that Sandman is _still_ fucking bleeding out. But there’s nothing he can _do_. He isn’t a doctor. He hasn’t done this before and he knows, he _knows_ that if he tries to fix this he’s only going to make it worse.

With an unsteady breath, Phantom fumbles around with his hand until he finds a water bottle. He opens the cap just a little and lets some of the water wash over the worst of the infection. Sandman jerks in his sleep like he’s been electrocuted but Phantom is able to hold him down long enough to pour a little more over him. He whimpers this time, tossing his head to the side and breathing unsteadily. Phantom apologizes under his breath but goes slowly as he searches for a new bandage and sets it over the injury. 

Sandman’s muttering as Phantom pulls what’s left of his shirt back down. He doesn’t dare cover him with the jacket again, fearing the extra layers are only going to make the fever worse. It’s only a beat after he maneuvers Sandman’s head back into his lap that his eyes flutter open.

Phantom sucks in a breath and waits, watching Sandman’s eyes dart around. It’s clear pretty quickly that he isn’t fully awake, his eyes hazy even in the dark.

“Mhm- Mah-”

Phantom shushes him and tries to keep him from moving around as he tosses his head to the side.

“Calm down,” Phantom says gently. “You’re fine. You’re safe.”

Sandman says something, garbled and too quiet for him to pick up on. Phantom just keeps talking to him, hoping that he’ll fall back asleep before he hurts himself even more. 

“All- All- e-”

“Shut up, you idiot,” Phantom snaps, more exhausted than actually mad. “You’re just dreaming. Go back to sleep.”

But Sandman’s fighting gets stronger, somehow, and Phantom has to hold his arms down as he tries desperately to push himself up.

The next time he speaks, Phantom realizes it’s not just gibberish he’s muttering. It's a name.

“Ollie,” Sandman groans out, voice thick and strained. “Ollie.”

His heart feels like it’s in his stomach, but Phantom manages to get Sandman’s arms down by his side. 

“It’s okay,” He reassures him. “He’s okay.”

Phantom can’t know that for sure but Sandman is in no state to question him. It’s a lie but a harmless one.

“Ollie,” Sandman says again, desperate. Like he’s calling out for him. 

“Ollie’s okay. He’s _fine_ , Sandy. Go back to sleep.”

At last, Sandman falls still. He whimpers one last time before his eyes close and he’s unconscious again.

“Jesus,” Phantom curses under his breath.

“Was he awake?”

Startled, Phantom jumps at the sound of Stakes’ voice. He didn’t know he was awake. 

“No,” He answers after a moment. “He’s got a fever. He was dreaming.”

“Dreaming of him.”

Phantom just nods. He feels horrible for lying to Sandman, even if he most likely will never remember. 

“I lied to him…”

“You _had_ to,” Stakes reassures. “If you told him the truth, it might’ve made it worse.”

“ _Still…_ ”

“It’s fine,” He insists. “He probably won’t remember when he wakes up, anyway.”

Phantom hums, even though a part of him wants to remind him that Sandman might not wake up at all. He pushes that down fast though, completely unwilling to dwell on it for any amount of time. Everything is going to be fine. Sandman’s been through a lot worse, he can make it through this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oof. I know this one was a bit heavier, and I apologize for all of the pain.   
> I do wanna say though, that the next few chapters are gonna be in the Four's povs. I plan on alternating back and forth, doing a few chapters following the Youngblood and then a few with the Four.   
> So yeah, this chapter was a lot of fun to write and I've been planning it in my head while at work for literal weeks. It was a lot of fun to write haha  
> Let me know what you think! I love hearing from you! <3


	6. Show me What You've Got

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNINGS:  
> *blood  
> *violence and death

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!  
> I'm officially off of break now! It's been a long month or so and I've really missed writing this fic, but it was much needed. I've tried to ease myself back into this fic, so this chapter isn't my favorite or one i'm most proud of. But I put a lot of thought and time into it and i'm happy with it. If it flows a little strangely or sounds off, that's because I've re-written this about 6 times. It was the reason I went on the break, at least partly. But yeah, like I said I'm happy with it right now and I feel ready to jump back into this story! I've got a lot planned.  
> Huge thank you to @i-like-to-wander-around-here for her help with figuring out the way this chapter should go and for being my beta!  
> I really hope that you all enjoy!

Poison takes a long glance around the room, taking in the hundred or so people all packed into the cafeteria. With the doors already firmly locked behind them, everything is a bit chaotic. Tensions are high and people are understandably on edge, but, for the most part, everyone seems to be taking everything considerably well. 

No-one questioned O’Neals orders, and now that everyone is here and accounted for, people are busy making last minute precautions before they head out. The order was given for those who are willing to fight to make their way to the front and back of the group, with everyone else protected in the middle. The chaos is mostly from a fair number of people shuffling through the crowd to get into position at the beginning and end of the makeshift line that O’Neal is going for. 

Poison and their crew are at the front, along with O’Neal, a few of her guards, and around twenty others who they don’t recognize. All of the official guards have their blasters out and in hand, ready should the Dracs get past whatever the Youngbloods are doing to distract them. Poison is, admittedly, a little curious as to how in the everloving _fuck_ a four person crew is gonna keep a whole _city’s_ worth of Dracs at bay. But they really don’t wanna jinx things by asking or pointing out how stupid of a plan this really is. Because it may be a shitty plan, but a shitty plan is better than no plan.

And beside, most of the people who live down here seem to have weapons of their own. Poison notices that more than half of those up-front already have their weapons out, things varying from rayguns to old fashioned guns that shoot real bullets. Someone even has a sword. They don’t really know anyone up front but a few faces are familiar, people they’ve seen in passing. People who’ve been in the control room while they were listening to the waves. There is one older lady that they’re pretty sure they’ve seen around a bunch. They think her name is Gretchen? Maybe. 

They’re about to go over and see if they do in fact know her, when Kobra shuffles over.

“Gotta full charge in mine, what a ‘bout you?” he asks, gesturing to their blaster.

Poison checks quickly, going through the motions automatically. 

“ ‘bout three quarters,” They reply quietly. “Plenty ‘nough ‘t do some damage.”

Huh. They wonder if their charge was replaced without them knowing, or if they really only used that little juice in their last clap. 

“All ‘a ours are full,” Kobra nods. “But is it bad tha’ I hope we don’t gotta fight?”

Funny, they were hoping the same thing.

“Hopefully we can get everyone out without any trouble.”

“Sandman may be an idiot,” Interjects the older lady they were watching earlier. “But he’s got this covered. We don’t need to worry.”

Jet steps over next, smiling. “Has he had all ‘a this planned out for long, ‘r was it a spur of th’ moment kinda thing?”

“He worries too much,” She smiles. “This stuff’s been planned out for ages. With a little luck, we’ll all be out in the desert before morning.”

Poison doesn’t bring up how _luck_ isn’t going to play much of a role tonight. It’s up to _them_ to make sure their crew stays safe, first and foremost. Luck may help, but there’s no way in hell they’re just going to sit back and let things play out as they come. 

They _tried_ that, when they decided to just stay here, let things come as they would. And they stayed here in the Underground, probably got a little too comfortable if they’re honest.

Staying here has been, truthfully, way nicer than they’d expected, even _with_ all the rough patches along the way. But that was just the thing, they guess, they’ve never _had_ a place where they felt safe, where they weren’t looking over their shoulder all the time and were just able to take things day by day. They could have lived here forever. But, fate or luck, whichever you wanna call it, wasn’t on their side.

So maybe that’s why they feel like they have to be on guard tonight. They let themself relax over these past few weeks and look at what's happened. The whole Underground is being invaded and all of these people are going to have to make a break for it. Their chances aren’t good, even if no-one is brave enough to say so out loud. But, more than that, Poison’s _family_ is in danger. Again.

They were too caught up in trying to let themself relax, that they relaxed _too much_. They should have known that they couldn’t stay here, should have stayed on guard in case something like this happened. Because in what universe would Better Living just leave them alone? 

While the others all talk to the older lady, Poison turns their attention over to the Girl. She’s standing beside Jet, scanning the room with nervous eyes. She doesn’t look scared, more like she’s keeping lookout. Just like they taught her. 

She has their jacket unzipped but wrapped around her like a blanket. It’s way too big on her but it eases something in them to see her finding comfort in wearing it. 

Maybe they’re thinking too much but just seeing how much she trusts the four of them to keep her safe, it makes them reconsider if they are actually letting her down as much as their brain thinks. Because she _doesn’t_ doubt them, even if she should. 

The Girl trusts that she is safe as long as she is with them. And that’s all that matters. Poison is going to do their best to not forget that.

“Ain’t that right, Poison.”

They tune back into the conversation at the sound of their name. Kobra’s looking at them expectantly and Ghoul, the asshole, is snickering because he totally saw them zoning out. 

Kobra rolls his eyes. “I said- we know how to fight. We’re gonna stay at the front.”

The old lady squints at them, studying them for a long moment. They know that stare, there’s a good chance it’s the- I can’t tell if you’re a guy or a girl, stare. So help them, if they have to have this conversation _now_ of all times they’re gonna go insane.

“What’d you say your name was?”

Poison squints this time, trying to figure this lady out. She looks older than Doc, easily the oldest person they’ve ever seen.

“Party Poison,” They tell her, kicking up their chin a bit out of habit. “But I go by Poison ‘n less you wanna fight.”

The old lady laughs and shakes her head. “I don’t wanna fight you, hon. My name’s Gretchen. I’ve already met Jet and Ghoul.”

The two of them wave at her and Poison frowns.

“What kinda name ‘s Gretchen?”

She gives them a look. “Well, what kind of name is Poison?”

“I’ll have you know-”

“Okay-” Jet interrupts, putting his hand on their shoulder as a warning. “You both have weird names. Stop it. We’re getting ready to go.”

Jet’s right, O’Neal is saying something into her radio while a door they never noticed before is opened on the nearest wall. Poison grips their blaster tightly. This is it. 

Another woman comes up beside Gretchen. She looks about the same age, with long greying hair falling past her shoulders and a kind face. She’s dressed the same too, with tough looking jeans and a thick leather jacket. 

“We staying in the front?” The other lady asks Gretchen, placing her hand on an old fashioned gun that rests on her hip. 

“Yeah, these four are gonna help out.”

The other lady gives them all a look. “They’re kids,” She deadpans.

Poison takes a step forward but Jet stops them with a look. He then shoots Gretchen and the other lady an apologetic look before answering.

“We know how to fight,” He insists again.

She gives them another once over, clearly not believing it. But, to their surprise, Gretchen takes her hand and nods her head towards them. 

“They’re telling the truth, Ana. They’re not City kids.”

The other lady, Ana, sighs and nods, seemingly convinced. “You’re not from down here though, are you? I would have seen you by now.”

“We’re from the desert,” Answers Ghoul, smiling with all of his teeth. 

Poison finds themself smiling too, just from the fact that he remembers enough now to say it with full conviction. Ana’s brows raise but she nods.

“I see. Well, if my wife says you can fight, then you can fight. We’ll need all the help we can get.”

And if Poison trusts Gretchen a little more after that, well then that’s no one’s business. She’s never even seen them fight before, but it feels good to know that they haven't lost whatever it is that makes them a force to be reckoned with. 

Just a few minutes later, O’Neal is taking the lead into the tunnel. It’s slow going, the doorway is only one person wide, but Poison is stepping onto old, cracked concrete within no time. It really sinks in then, that this is it. That they’re leaving the Underground behind.

They find themself slipping into auto-pilot. They keep a hand on their blaster as their eyes dart around the dim, flickering light that the overhead lamps offer, searching for Dracs hiding in the shadows of the uneven walls. It’s clear that this place hasn’t been as well-kept as the other parts of the Underground. The Youngbloods probably didn’t think this place would be used except for an evacuation like this one. 

A thought occurs to them and they turn to Gretchen. She’s been walking beside them, just as alert.

“How are Sandman and the others gonna get out?” They ask.

A pit of dread has begun to settle in their gut. Surely the Younbgloods have a plan on how to get themselves out too. Right?

But Gretchen just gives them a sly smile. “I told you, Sandman may be an idiot but he’s not stupid.”

That doesn’t really answer their question but Poison has a feeling that that’s all she’s going to say on the matter.

They slow down enough so that they’re walking alongside Jet and Kobra. Ghoul and the Girl are just behind them, and after them a few more of the people who volunteered for the front.

Poison doesn’t say anything to Jet, they don’t have to. They just feel better knowing he’s by their side. They know that he would notice anything that they missed. 

As strange as it is, it’s easy to fall back into this. Into survival mode. They don’t think about it too much, don’t dwell on how they had almost convinced themself that they would never have to do this again. Instead, they let that ball of anger inside of them seep out. Anger at the situation. At having to risk their crew’s safety again because they’re never really gonna be safe are they? 

So long as Better Living is still here, they won’t ever be safe.

And it’s that rage, that absolute hate that they feel towards the City, that allows them to feel like _Party Poison_ again. They're _not_ some scared little kid. They can and will destroy anything the City throws at them.

The Director herself should fear them. And if she doesn’t, they’re going to _make_ her.

They don’t know what that means yet, or how they would ever take on someone as well guarded as her, but Poison just has a gut feeling that somehow, someway, they’re going to make Better Living regret everything it’s done to them and the people they care about. And it starts right now.

______________________________________________________________

At first, there’s no hint that Dracs are even in the Underground. 

The alarms are still sounding, growing quieter as they get further away from the entrance they took. But then, out of nowhere, one of the numerous doors that they’ve been passing bursts open right as Poison is walking past it. They’re firing their blaster before the first Drac has even made it through.

It falls and another lunges. This time, a louder shot is fired. Beside them, Gretchen’s gun smokes. 

No other Dracs come and Jet shoves the door closed and fires at the handle to melt it. 

After that, everyone is on edge. Before, there was the quiet murmuring from the people around them, but now no one makes a sound. Nothing can be heard but the soft noise of this many people treading over the ancient concrete. 

“Nice shot,” Poison whispers to Gretchen, as loud as they dare.

She smiles at them. “Same to you.”

Less than five minutes later, another door bursts open. Two Dracs storm into the tunnel, already firing. Poison doesn't know who’s shot takes them down, but within seconds the Dracs lie on the ground, dead. 

This time, they glance back at the Girl. She’s holding Ghoul’s hand tightly but she smiles when she meets their eyes. 

It goes on like that for a while, every few minutes there’s a Drac or two bursting in through a door or hidden entrance. They’re quickly disposed of. Gretchen takes out at least seven that Poison notices and Ana kills over ten. 

They’re not sure how many they’re ghosting, really. It’s all muscle memory, point and shoot at the bad guy. Rinse, repeat.

It’d be funny if they gave it more than a second of thought. They’d been terrified to pick up their gun again and yet, here they are. 

Ghoul is the only one who doesn’t shoot but it was a given that he’d be watching over the Girl. Kobra and Jet take out just as many as Poison does. And, by some miracle, no one’s hurt yet. 

It seems like the Youngbloods really planned this out well. Poison tries to remember to thank them later.

After about half an hour of walking, they reach a split in the tunnel. Both directions look the same, with no end in sight. O’Neal is too far ahead of them for Poison to ask if she knows the way and they don’t dare shout for fear of alerting Dracs to their location.

But they notice O’Neal checking something in her hand, a map maybe. She studies it briefly before turning on her heel and leading the group down the left tunnel. 

“Hey,” Poison turns their head at the sound of Jet’s voice, but he’s talking to Gretchen, not them. “Where’s that other tunnel lead?”

It’s Ana who answers. 

“Goes out to some tunnel connected to a garage in the City. We used to use it before they finished the main tunnel that leads up top.”

“A garage?” Jet asks slowly, glancing over to them.

It clicks then. That tunnel must lead to the one below the garage where Jet and Kobra left the ‘am. Somehow, they’d forgotten all about their car in the rush of all of this. 

“You know it?” Gretchen questions. 

“Yeah. Me ‘n Kobra used that tunnel a few weeks ago.” Gretchen obviously misses the way Jet’s voice changes. How he’s realizing that they're leaving the ‘Am here. And it’s crushing him.

Poison thinks back to what he told them the other day. About his first crew. About how that car was all he has left of it. 

Their decision is made before they’ve even opened their mouth.

“I’m not leavin’ our car,” They demand. 

They come to a full stop and even O’Neal turns around to see what’s going on. 

“It’s just a car. I know it probably meant a lot to you but-”

“No,” They interrupt Gretchen, shaking their head. “I don’t care. We’re not leaving it.”

This earns them a very confused look from Gretchen and Anna, but the look Jet gives them more than makes up for it.

“You’re just going to go off on your own?” O’Neal asks, walking over to them.

But she doesn’t sound mad. Hell, if they didn’t know better she might even be proud. 

“We can take care of ourselves. And we’re almost out, aren’t we? You guys ‘ll be fine on your own.”

“Sandman’s gonna kill me for letting you leave,” She says slowly. But there’s the barest hint of a smile twitching on her lips. “So don’t get yourselves killed, got it?”

“Gotcha.”

She nods then and signals for everyone to start moving again. Gretchen claps a hand on their shoulder as she passes and Ana gives them a nod, like she understands. The five of them stand there for a moment after the last of the group passes.

Jet knocks his shoulder against theirs. “Thanks.”

They nod. “We should get moving.”

_________________________________________

The moment that Poison steps out of the tunnel and into the garage, they spot the ‘Am. They’ve come out on the bottom level and, across the parking spaces they can see the other tunnel. Another car sits beside theirs but they’re more focused on _their_ car. It looks exactly how it was when they drove it into the City. Maybe a little more run down. But the same. They had known, going in, that they probably weren’t going to survive. 

So it’s a strange feeling as they slide into the passenger’s seat after so long. After nearly dying. After meeting the Youngbloods and just- everything these past few weeks have entailed.

But it’s not a bad feeling that settles over Poison. It’s more… comforting. Because this- _this_ is familiar. This car was what Jet was driving when they met him. It’s where they all stayed until they found the diner. They used to drive it for hours to help the Girl go to sleep when she was a baby. 

Jet opens the door and takes his seat at the wheel. He looks just as relieved as they feel. 

The brief moment of peace is shattered as a huge, booming crash comes from somewhere above them. 

Dracs must have found the parking garage. They can hear them making their way down, the sound of orders being shouted echoing through the empty garage. They’ll be here any second.

Fuck. Poison _really_ doesn’t wanna be in a huge clap today. They’ve pushed their luck far enough. 

But Jet is already two steps ahead of them. He cranks the car and shoots forward so fast that Poison nearly smashes their head against the dash. Before they can even straighten up, the ‘Am is skidding as he yanks the wheel and sends them barreling towards the other tunnel. 

They’re about halfway there when Poison leans their head out the window and spots the first Dracs beginning to take aim at them. They pull their blaster and start shooting, aiming as best they can. Kobra and Ghoul follow their lead, leaning out the back windows and helping them pick off the growing number of Dracs.

But for every one that they ghost, it feels like three more follow just behind. They’re gaining on them but, thankfully Jet guns it as they shoot into the tunnel. Poison fires a few more shots but the Dracs are already too far away

With a heavy sigh, Poison falls back into their seat. Fuck they forgot how heart attack inducing shit like this was. But in a good way. They feel like they could take on a hundred Dracs right now. They’re smiling like a mad man, they’re sure of it. 

“We’re clear,” Kobra shouts from the back, the grin easy to hear in his voice.

Ghoul whoops and even Jet joins in. The Girl goes around giving them all high fives, cheering.

God, Poison missed this. 

____________________

When the first rays of desert sun hit them, Poison holds their breath. 

They’re not sure why but something in them makes them tense up. Maybe it’s because they never thought they’d see this again, the sand stretching on as far as they can see. The sun overhead, a universal constant that they didn’t know they missed until suddenly it was back. It’s almost instantly too warm inside the car so they roll their window down automatically. They relish in the way the gritty wind stings as it hits their face. 

Through the reflection in the rear-view mirror, Poison watches the way the Girl’s face lights up. She’s beaming as she crawls over Ghoul’s lap to look out the window. Her hair is dancing in the wind, getting caught in her mouth and Ghoul’s. But they’re both grinning ear to ear.

Even Kobra is clearly enjoying himself. He looks almost as if he’d been holding his breath this whole time and only now, back in their home, can he let the breath out. 

Poison is beginning to realize that it was stupid of them to try and take this away from their crew. That’s obvious now, now that they can see how much weight has been lifted from them simply from being out in the sands again. And Poison feels it too, that sense of being right where they’re supposed to be. The desert is their home and, no matter what, they shouldn’t forget that. 

They’re less than a mile away from the tunnel when the ground starts to shake beneath them. It’s strong enough that Jet stops the car, kicking up sand and dust that makes them all squint as they try and peer through it to see what’s going on.

For a while, nothing happens other than a deep, loud rumbling sound. But then, Poison realizes that the tunnel is collapsing. The ground buckles around it and they watch as it goes down in slow motion, a large cloud of dust shooting out of what is left of the entrance.

They sit there, frozen, their mouth hanging open.

“Hey, it worked,” Remarks Ghoul in a quiet voice from the back seat.

They all turn to look at him at the same time. 

“Sandy had me help with seein’ where we should set up detonators if they ever needed th’ whole place ‘t go boom,” He shrugs with a lopsided grin. “I told him this would work.”

Jet’s eyes are wide. “ _You_ blew up the whole place?” “Well, _I_ didn’t. I just told ‘em th’ best places ‘t put the explosives. He's the one who pushed the button… probably.”

“I- but- _why_?” Poison stutters, turning their head back to what remains of the collapsed tunnel. 

The dust is beginning to settle and it begins to sink in that they’re really _never_ going to go back.

“So the City couldn’t figure out what they were doing down there,” Kobra explains.

He sounds way too sure, like it makes perfect sense. But Poison’s head is reeling. 

Does that mean it’s all just… _gone_?

Sure, the Underground was never truly their home- not yet- but it just- it can’t just be gone...

“Was everyone out?” They manage to force themself to say. 

“Yeah, I stole a glance at th’ map,” Ghoul says, still wired with that excited energy he gets whenever he gets to blow something up. “We took th’ long way. They’ve probably been out like, 20 minutes longer than we have.”

“What about the Youngbloods?”

No one answers. 

They wouldn’t have set the bombs unless they were already out, right? 

“Call ‘em,” Ghoul suggests, motioning towards Poison’s radio.

Their hands shake as they unclip the radio on their belt and tune it to the right frequency. They hardly even notice how silent the car’s gotten, how the Girl is holding onto Ghoul again.

“Poison to the Youngbloods. We heard the explosion, _please_ tell me you guys got out.”

No answer.

“Poison to the Youngbloods. Are you guys okay?”

Still nothing.

Fuck. They wouldn’t have…. _Would_ they?

“Maybe they can’t answer right now,” Kobra suggests weakly. “Radios can be broken.”

But he doesn’t sound sure. No one speaks as Jet puts the car back in drive. He leads them onto Guano and they cruise for a while. 

Poison barely even registers the time going by. Today is catching up with them, everything that’s happened. Everything that they've done that they never thought they could- or would do again. 

They fought again. That’s the main thing. They’d been so sure they wouldn’t be able to do this again, be the leader their crew needs. They’re broken, in more ways than one. But, that hadn’t mattered. Poison fought and they did just as well as they always do. 

Their crew is fine, they got them all out. 

It’s an unsettling feeling, that they’d been so wrong when they’d decided they were done fighting. 

They hardly even register that time is passing, that they’re driving for nearly the whole day.

“Hey,” Jet says much later, breaking them from their thoughts. “Do you see that?” He’s squinting at the hazy outline of the horizon, shimmering with the failing light. It’s nearly dark now, somehow, but Poison can make out a shadow of… something directly in front of them.

“Yeah, I see it.”

“ ‘s it a person?”

They squint too and are just able to make out the silhouette of a person. 

“Fuck. I think it is.”

“Think it’s a Drac?”

“Ghoul,” they say, whipping around in their seat to talk to him. 

Their words die when they notice that he’s fast asleep, his face smushed against the window and the Girl curled up in his lap. Her feet are laying in Kobra’s lap and he too is out cold. 

Poison turns back to Jet and shrugs. 

“I’d say we see who it is. Maybe they’re friendly?”

Jet snorts. “Yeah. Like we have that kinda luck.”

But he speeds up anyway and within minutes they’re pulling up beside the person. They’re sunburned badly, Poison notices that even before they’ve hopped out of the car. But then they take in the bright yellow outfit and suddenly they’re realizing that this is _Benz_.

“Benz!” They shout, hurrying out of the car to him. “Fuck! What the hell are you doing?” He lifts his head, confused. But then he sways and Poison darts to catch him before he falls. 

He groans as they adjust their grip to keep him upright just as the others get out of the car and rush over.

“Jet, do we have any water?”

He slides a bag off his shoulder and produces a bottle that Poison quickly gives to Benz. Kobra, Ghoul, and the Girl get out of the car and come to stand with them in a circle around Benz.

“You’re not a mirage?” Benz murmurs as he clutches at the bottle.

“Nope. We’re real. Drink that,” They use their other hand to guide his up to his mouth. “How long have you been out here?”

Benz drinks for a long moment but when he blinks at them again he seems to be able to focus a lot easier. That’s a good thing, means he hasn’t been out here _too_ long.

“Since this morning?”

“We tried to call you guys,” Kobra says while Benz takes another drink. “Right after the Underground exploded.”

Benz winces. “We were a little busy.”

“What’s that mean?”

“Wait,” Poison interrupts as a thought suddenly occurs to them. “Where are the others?”

“I don’t know.”

Benz steps away, standing on his own and looking less like roadkill and more like someone who’s just been out in the sun a little too long. But there’s something unreadable in his expression. Something almost hurt. 

“Me and Sandman had a… fight,” He explains, looking everywhere but at the four of them. “And I stormed off and now I’m lost.”

“Hey,” The Girl speaks up. “Is that blood on your arms?”

They all look over and, sure enough, Benz’s arms and hands are covered in dry blood. Jet steps closer instantly and begins searching him for injuries. He frowns when he doesn’t reveal any open wounds. 

“Are you hurt somewhere else?” He asks, still holding Benz’s arm.

“I’m fine. It’s… Sandman. He was shot but he- he wouldn’t fuckin’ let me _look_ and then I walked away and-”

“Where was the last place you saw them?” 

Jet’s voice is unnervingly even and even though Benz hurries through a vague explanation, he clearly knows where the other Youngbloods probably are. 

“We’ll find them,” Jet reassures him, sounding way too sure.

They all pile back in the car, cramped with so many people. Benz takes the middle seat in the back, which means the Girl gets to sit in Poison’s lap up front. As Jet drives back the way they came, Poison steals occasional glances to the curled up, shadowy outline of Benz.

He’s shivering a little, either from the cold or from the sunburns that cover him, but he’s managed to fall asleep. Poison wants to wake him up, to question him about exactly how much of today was pre-planned and how much of it was pure luck. But they don’t. 

There was something in the way he looked when he spoke about his and Sandman’s fight. Poison hasn’t known them for very long but… they find it odd that out of nowhere the two of them would have a fight bad enough for Benz to leave while Sandman was still hurt. 

But they don’t know the full story, or even part of it. So they allow themself to rest back against their seat, adjusting their arms around the Girl and making sure she’s sleeping soundly. They tilt their head back against the headrest and let their eyes close. 

They’re too wired to sleep just yet but they don’t open their eyes again until the sun is beginning to rise, making them see nothing but shades of red through their eyelids. As they blink everything into focus, they tilt their head towards Jet. He looks over and gives them a tiny smile.

They shift enough to peer at the back seat. 

Kobra’s awake too, staring out his window like he’s lost in thought, while Ghoul is curled up and tangled in his seat, out cold. Benz would almost look asleep, if it weren’t for the way he’s picking at a tear in his pants. 

It’s nearly an hour later, long after the sun has risen high in the sky, when Jet brings the car to a stop.

“We’re here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was originally gonna be two or three chapters long. But I realized that doing so would probably just make it drag on for too long. Hopefully, with the way I ended up structuring it it didn't feel too rushed or anything.  
> But yeah, Gretchen and her wife are badass lesbians and we love them. Fun fact, I named Gretchen after my older co-worker who saw one of my pride pins and decided to tell me that "I have nothing against being gay, but I think there should be another word for when two gay people get married, because it's not marriage if it's not a man and a woman." And i lost so many braincells in that convo that I had to get revenge by making her namesake a super badass lesbian with a wife. Cause you know, spite.  
> Also, Poison is now offically the only character with two character sheets in my notes. Part of my problem with this chapter was that I never really showed you guys how they were Before sing. We never really got to see them be themself. And now that they're coming out the other end of everything, they're gonna be more like themself again. So hopefully, that shone through a bit, how they're getting better and sorta going back to what constitutes as normal for them.  
> But yeah, next chapter will go back to the Ybs pov. Just because I have Plans. But don't assume anything XD
> 
> Thank you all for reading! I would love to hear your thoughts and things on this chapter, so feel free to leave a comment telling me what you thought! <3


	7. Let my love Loose again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNINGS:  
> *detailed medical treatments/descriptions of injury

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone!  
> I tried to get this out within a week from the last chapter and I missed it by like, a day. So close enough hahahaha. It's been a long week, that's my only excuse.  
> but yeah, we're back at it with more of the Youngbloods' Povs. Next chapter I'm thinking split between the Ybs and the Four.  
> A very huge thank you to @i-like-to-wander-around-here for being my amazing beta as always <3
> 
> I hope you all enjoy!

Benz finds himself standing outside a rundown shed, if you can even call it that. It looks like it’s been here for years, maybe even longer than he’s been _alive_. 

At the sound of the Four’s car pulling up, the doors slamming as they all step out, Phantom pokes his head out of the door. Benz watches the recognition dawn on his face and, before they’ve even stepped away from the car, Phantom is opening the door and walking over.

He meets them halfway and crosses his arms over his chest, like he’s either about to scold them before crushing them in hugs, or like he’s going to tell them to get lost. Though, what hurts the most is that he won't even look at him.

Phantom keeps his eyes on Poison as they recount everything Benz had managed to tell them. Which isn’t much. Benz can’t quite kick his brain into gear enough to follow the conversation, but he is relieved when Phantom nods. And then, finally, he looks over to Benz. He’s giving him a strange look, one that, for once, Benz can’t figure out. Is he about to tell him to leave? If Sandman does actually believe he’s a traitor then… what are the chances the others do too?

Certainly him bolting right after the accusation wasn’t exactly the best way to prove his innocence, right?

“You alright?” Phantom asks.

It takes him by surprise, hearing him speak to him like nothing’s changed. And it takes him a long few seconds just to try and take in his own health. The heat has definitely already begun frying his brain, he thinks. But, in truth, other than a mild sunburn and a headache, he’s fine. The sleep he got on the way here, as shitty as it was, helped a lot. The Four found him before there was any real lasting damage. 

“Fine,” Benz mutters, voice scratchy.

A part of him had expected Phantom to turn him away immediately. He deserves it, after all. His crew needed him and he wasn’t able to do anything. Now, Sandman’s hurt… or _worse_ , and Benz _ran_ before he could help. So, he really doesn't understand _why_ Phantom is being so nice to him?

There’s a long, heavy moment where no-one speaks and the silence hangs suffocating in the air. And it hurts. It _hurts_ ,because just a day or so ago, these same people all joked and laughed with him around the lunch table. Ghoul tried to brush his hair with a fork and Stakes somehow got mashed potatoes in his hair when that wasn’t even something being served that day.

And Benz is sort of reeling from how fast and how sharply everything has tilted and changed. Even the Girl, a bubbly ball of energy that wrecked (adorable) chaos on everyone in the Underground, is now serious and quiet. She’s playing in the backseat of the Four’s car, the door open so she doesn’t get too hot. But she’s quiet and Benz knows that she’s listening. She’s so much smarter than she looks.

He wonders if this is a normal occurrence for her. If she’s used to hanging out while her crew goes on runs like this. 

Just as the silence is beginning to make Benz’s ears ring, Poison clears their throat and gestures back behind them with their thumb. 

“We found ‘im walkin’ way out that way,” They say to Phantom. “What happened?”

Phantom keeps his eyes on Benz, like he’s waiting on him to bolt again. He swallows but can’t bring himself to recount what happened. Not when he doesn’t quite understand it himself. It feels like a nightmare, but one that’s bled into the waking world and won’t leave him be.

“A misunderstanding,” Phantom states slowly. “I hope.”

Benz frowns. What’s that supposed to mean? 

“But,” Phantom continues, taking a breath before turning to face him and adopting a pleading tone. “Right now, we need to set that shit aside. Sandman’s not doing great and… and I _know_ that you have no right to help him right now, but he _needs_ you Benz.”

That doesn’t feel _right_. Why would Sandman need him? He _clearly_ didn’t need him the other day. 

“I- I dunno,” Benz mutters as confidently as he’s able. “He sounded pretty adamant about _not_ needing me.”

“And you won’t ever get a fucking apology from him if you don’t _help_ him,” Phantom stresses, something almost like panic beginning to seep into his voice. “He’s _dying_ , Benz. And I agree, he was fuckin’ horrible to you, but we can’t yell at him if he’s _dead_.”

Benz’s heart stops at that, just from the _thought_ of Sandman being gone. And he hates it, but that feeling is stronger than the residual ache left behind from Sandman’s words yesterday. Despite everything, despite that he _shouldn’t_ , Benz still cares too much about Sandman to just let him die. Not over something like this. Or rather- _especially_ not over a stupid fight. 

So, he steals himself. Pushes down everything in him screaming that he should just leave, and nods. He can’t bring himself to speak but it’s okay. Phantom’s shoulders sag and he waves his arm for Benz to follow him back inside.

Kobra, Jet and Ghoul stay back with the Girl, but Poison follows behind silently. Benz pays them no mind.

It’s blissfully cooler once they’re inside, and the sunlight filtering through is dim but still bright enough for him to see his surroundings. Most of his crew's things are scattered around messily but it doesn’t take long for him to spot Stakes and Sandman in the tiny room.

Stakes is looking up, watching them come in with an unreadable expression of his own. He’s sitting awkwardly, like his leg is bothering him, but looks to be fine. Benz wishes he could say the same for Sandman.

He’d sorta hoped Phantom was just being dramatic. That Sandman was whining and bitching about the injury, but was mostly okay. The second Benz looks at him he knows in his heart that that is not the case.

First glance, he doesn’t look to be _breathing_. But then Sandman turns his head, more of a jerking motion than a turn, and Benz notices the way he’s quite literally soaked with sweat. His face is scrunched up, as if he’s in pain, and he’s paler than a sheet. 

Benz steps over, already slipping into auto-pilot. He crouches down beside Sandman and pulls back the piece of clothing acting as a blanket over his lower half.

What’s left of his shirt is hiked up and a bandage rests over the wound is. But it’s not soaked in blood like he was expecting, rather it's practically dripping with something else. It’s yellow and horrible smelling. It means infection and Benz has to fight off the shake in his hands as he pulls the bandage away.

He doesn't get sick at the sight, years of treating far worse injuries have made him nearly immune, but he’s sick for another reason. They don’t have antibiotics out here, certainly not enough to get rid of an infection this serious.

And, just to make things worse, there’s darkening bruises forming around the wound, telling of internal bleeding that Benz simply doesn’t have the supplies to take care of at the moment.

He curses under his breath and quickly takes Sandman’s temperature. What he finds makes him curse again. Any higher and they’ll risk even more complications. 

He turns around to the hovering group behind him and meets Poison’s eyes.

“Do you have a way to get medical supplies out here?”

They nod. “Yeah. Doc can get jus’ about anythin’, if you can pay for it.”

“How much?”

“Depends,” Poison shrugs. “We can just give ‘im an IOU, though. Since it’s a ‘mergency.”

“Call him and tell him we need-”

Benz searches his pockets for a piece of paper and a pen, miraculously producing both. He scribbles down the exact things he’s going to need, making sure to make it as neat as he can, even in his rush. He then hands Poison the note and they skim it over once before unclipping their radio and making the call.

Meanwhile, Benz focuses all of his attention back to Sandman.

But there's nothing really he can do right now, not until he has the supplies that he needs. The rush of adrenaline begins to fade and his hands truly begin to shake. 

God. Benz can’t believe he just _left_ him like this. Benz knew that he was hurt, _knew_ that it was bad, but he still just _left_. Stormed off like a little kid throwing a fit. 

And now, because of him, he doesn’t know if Sandman is even going to survive long enough for him to _do_ anything.

Benz jumps as Phantom sits down beside him, too caught up in his own thoughts to even notice that both he and Stakes are staring at him again. But their faces are less guarded now, like he’s passed some unknown test and they are happy he’s here now.

Benz doesn’t allow himself to hope for anything close to that. It’s a miracle they’ve let him near Sandman at all. This is _his_ fault.

“It’s good to have you back.”

Startled, Benz turns towards Stakes. There’s a smile on his face, even if it is a hesitant one. 

“I- what?”

He smiles a little easier this time. “You heard me.”

Benz blinks for a moment, more shocked than anything. They can’t be serious can they? 

He honestly figured that best case scenario would be, he’d patch Sandman up, get him on the right track to getting better, and then either be asked to leave or he’d leave before they had the chance to ask. 

Sandman made it pretty clear that Benz wasn’t welcome. 

So again, why are the others just… acting like him just showing up means forgiveness?

“Look,” Phantom begins slowly. “The other day was… bad. But Benz, dude I promise that nothing’s changed. You are still a part of this crew and you are still one of my absolute best friends.”

Benz can only look down at his hands, keeping his eyes far away from the other two as well as the unconscious form of Sandman in Stakes’s lap. 

“I won’t pretend I know what Sandman was thinking when he said that shit to you,” Phantom continues. “But I do know that I don’t believe it.”

How can Phantom just say that? As if…. 

As if Benz wasn’t _kicked out_ because the leader of this crew thought he was a traitor. He can still _hear_ the damning conviction in Sandman’s voice, how he made it sound so… _true_. Hell, he almost believed it himself.

But, in his very core, beyond all the layers of shit he’s built up over the years, the bottom line is that he would rather die than betray his crew. No matter what. He hates Better Living with everything in him. Hates them for what they’ve done to him and to the people he cares about. He would rather _die_ than help the City in any way.

He thought Sandman knew that. He thought he felt the same way. 

Phantom places a hand on his shoulder, apparently catching on to the fact that Benz doesn’t really have an answer.

“I know that doesn’t fix what he said to you,” He continues, shooting a glance over to Sandman. “But we’re gonna figure it out. I’m not letting him off the hook just because he nearly died.”

A memory barges it’s way to the front of his mind.

Years ago, back when they’d first begun getting the hang of running the Underground, Sandman had been too reckless one night on a patrol and got shot in the arm. He was fine, Benz treated him himself, but they hadn’t wanted him to go back to work so soon. So, a compromise was put in place, he had to help Benz a few hours every day. Mostly just to get him out of his bed and walking around without the risk of him getting lost in paperwork or responsibilities and keeping himself from healing properly. 

He bitched literally the entire time. On and on about how they were forcing him to work when he nearly _died_.

But it was just joking. It’s when Sandman _isn’t_ being dramatic about an injury, _that’s_ how you know it’s bad. He always tries to shift the attention off of himself. And Benz remembers fondly seeing Sandman asleep at Benz’s desk that week. He was all curled up, snoring and cradling his injured arm. Benz hadn’t had the heart to wake him. 

The sound of him insisting that he’d nearly died though, just hearing that in his head makes Benz want to vomit. What he wouldn’t give to have Sandman healthy enough to be annoying. 

Benz realizes Poison never left the room as their voice tapers off. They quickly end the radio call, thanking Doc profusely. The silence isn’t as deafening as before but even so, Benz wishes he knew what to say, what to _do_ , to fix this.

Poison joins them, “Doc said it’ll be a day ‘n til he can get a few of th’ things but he’s sendin’ Cherri out with what ‘e already has right now.”

“Did he say what he doesn’t have?”

“I marked ‘em as we went down th’ list.”

They hand him the list.

Sure enough, one or two things have a little scribble beside them. But it’s only the things that aren’t absolutely critical right now, mainly the second set of antibiotics and the fever reducers. But, when he gets the other items on the list he should be able to make a start in getting Sandman’s temperature down anyway.

“Thanks,” He tells Poison. “Uh- how long will it be until Cherri gets here?”

“Not long. Maybe a few hours. But th’ Witch likes ‘im so he might make it sooner.”

Benz frowns but knows enough not to ask them what that’s supposed to mean. 

“Is there anything you can do for him while we wait?” Stakes asks, looking down to Sandman with clear concern. 

“No. Beyond changing the bandage out for a clean one, that’s just going to be ruined again in a few minutes anyway, I can’t do much until the supplies get here.”

Phantom looks down and Benz feels a pang in his chest when he watches him take a shaky breath. 

“What’re his chances, Benz?”

“Honestly?”

Phantom looks uncertain, but he nods. Benz takes a deep breath and looks over to Stakes. It’s purely to stall. But Stakes is looking at him too, eyes wide with concern. He has one of Sandman’s hands in his own and Benz feels like his chest is caving in. 

“Not good,” He manages. “He’s gone downhill fast. I- I don’t know. Once we get the medical supplies and everything we need, I’ll be able to give you a more definite answer. But… for now, it’s up to him. He has to survive long enough for us to help him.”

______________________

Night falls suddenly. 

Or it feels that way. Benz’s day had devolved into a constant, repetitive motion of checking Sandman’s temperature, asking how close Cherri is. So when Benz just happens to glance up after who knows how long, everything is bathed in shadows.

He takes his first glance around the room since this morning. 

Poison and Ghoul are in the corner to his left, talking quietly. The Girl is curled up, asleep, beside them.

Kobra and Jet are outside, Benz realizes after he sweeps his eyes over the room and can’t spot them. They must be keeping watch, for Cherri or the City. 

Phantom too is asleep, lying on the other side of Sandman with his back turned to the room. Stakes is sitting beside him and he looks up when he feels Benz’s eyes on him.

“Do you want some food?’ Stakes asks, gently like he’s afraid he’s going to run off again.

“Uh…”

Stakes laughs. “We all already ate. You were in the zone, so we asked but I don’t think you even heard us.”

“How much is left? I don’t want to-”

“Let me rephrase that,” Stakes cuts in. “Eat your dinner or I will make you sit outside.”

He thrusts a can of something into Benz’s hands before he can protest. He blinks dumbly down at it for a moment, stunned by how familiar this conversation is. How many nights have his crew had to remind him to do things like eat or sleep? Too many to count, that’s for sure.

Benz frowns and pokes at the contents of the can with his fork. It could either be refried beans or dog food. He isn’t sure which is worse.

But he’s hungry and Stakes wouldn’t hand him something that isn’t edible, probably, so he digs in.

Just as he’s setting the can down and getting ready to continue keeping watch over Sandman, the unmistakable sound of an engine cuts through the still night.

He panics, thoughts of more Dracs- or worse, Exterminators, filling his mind. Poison and Ghoul stand quickly, but don’t draw their guns. 

“That’s gotta be Cherri,” Ghoul says, smiling.

Phantom, woken up by the noise, sits and yawns. Only the Girl remains asleep while Poison and Ghoul head outside, apparently she’s a heavy sleeper. 

By the time Benz has dragged himself up, the engine is cut and the low sound of voices reaches his ears. He can’t tell what they’re saying but it’s only a few moments before the door is being opened and Cherri hurries in.

He’s carrying three bags on one shoulder and an armful of supplies as well. Behind him, Kobra walks in with another bag. Jet follows last, shutting the door behind him.

Cherri wastes no time coming over to Benz. Carefully, he sets down what he’s holding. 

“Sorry I couldn’t get all ‘a it. Supplies ‘re hard ‘t keep right now.”

“It’s fine,” Benz assures him, already crouching down to gather what he needs.

Sandman has slowly been getting worse and he needs to start treating him immediately if he wants any hope of actually getting his best friend to pull through.

His thoughts narrow down, the familiar motions becoming muscle memory as he prepares. He doesn’t even really think about what he’s doing. Some might call it going with his gut, doing what feels right. But it’s more like his mind knows what it’s doing and it doesn’t have to complete a whole thought before his hands are already moving.

Benz has the IV for the antibiotics set up in record time and Stakes holds the bag up without having to be asked. Very distantly, he’s aware of the Four and Cherri speaking, but he’s more focused on removing the ruined bandage and getting to work.

It’s hours later, or possibly minutes, he’s not sure, until he’s leaning back and carefully examining his work. 

He was able to clean out most of the infection at the surface level, thankfully, and it seems like the initial blast didn’t hit any major organs or arteries. Mainly the blood loss came from Sandman tearing the cauterized areas by moving around so much. And, just as he had hoped, the combination of the first round of antibiotics and Benz’s thorough cleaning have reduced his fever greatly. 

It’ll probably be a few more hours until it breaks completely and then, hopefully, he’ll wake soon after that. 

Benz was also able to determine that somehow, the internal bleeding did stop. Either because Sandman being unconscious means that he can’t move around and keep reopening the wound, or because it clotted on it’s own. Without the machinery he had in his lab, Benz can’t know for certain. But the important thing is that Sandman is no longer bleeding and that there seems to be no lasting damage.

“Benz.”

He jerks his head up, finding Poison standing beside him. They look concerned, face twisted into a frown that the hair falling over their eyes mostly covers.

“Did you hear us talking to you?”

No, he didn’t. He offers them a small, apologetic smile.

“No. Sorry,” He says. “What’d you say?”

Around him, he notices that everyone is watching him. 

“Is he gonna be okay?” Stakes speaks up.

And either that was the original question, or it was more important than the original, but Benz is able to relax because now he has an answer for that question, one that he feels confident giving. 

“Yes. He’s lucky. His fever is already going down and it should break soon. He should wake up shortly after that. But he’s going to need the second round of antibiotics soon or he’ll just get worse again.”

Cherri, who’s sitting between Jet and Ghoul, with the Girl in his lap, speaks up.

“I’m heading back soon. Doc said his runner’s got the last of th’ stuff on your list. Should ‘av it to ya by this time tomorrow.”

Benz nods. “Thank you.”

Cherri just waves his hand. “ ‘s no big deal. I bring these idiots supplies all the time.”

“Hey!” Ghoul protests, even though he’s smiling wider than Benz has ever seen.

It’s then that he notices how easy the Four seem around Cherri. How the Girl is happily sitting on him, playing with a shiny pin stuck to his jacket. He remembers how hard Kobra had hugged Cherri after they went out to get the Girl. 

He had always assumed the desert was a lonely place, everyone forced to fend for themselves. But he’s been proven wrong.

He’s barely spoken two words to Cherri and yet, he gladly made a trip to bring all of those supplies to them. He’s acting like he’s known Benz for his entire life, as if they’re already close friends. And it’s a little strange but he already does see Cherri as a friend. 

Benz looks down at Sandman, seeing him for the first time in hours as his friend, not just a patient. His heart aches at the sight of him, seeing how fragile he looks even after the hours of work Benz’s done. 

And it’s conflicting. Because on one hand, this is his best friend, the closest person he has to a brother, and he wants to curl up right beside him and keep him safe. But another part of him, still raw from their argument, tells him that he should just leave. He’s done his job, saved him, now he has no reason to stay.

Benz knows Phantom and Stakes are willing to hear both sides. But if Sandman refuses to give up on his claim that he betrayed them, then Benz doesn’t want to force the others to have to choose. It’d just be easier for him to go. Sandman’s the leader, they need him, but Benz can’t fire his gun to- literally- save a life. Sure, he can patch people up but so can so many others. He’s replaceable, when it comes down to it. 

“Phantom?” Benz forces out, voice shaking. 

He doesn’t want to leave but what choice does he have?

“No,” Phantom says firmly. “No more apologies. We can talk more in the morning but it’s _late_ and you need to sleep. We all do.”

Benz wants to protest but everyone starts laying down again, huddling up to keep warm. Cherri says goodbye, promising to be back as soon as he can. Benz watches him leave through the broken window. 

A blanket is draped over his shoulders, warm and soft, clearly well used. 

“That means you, Benz,” Stakes insists, giving him a stern look.

“But-”

“I’m going to be outside, keeping watch since the City hasn’t given up on being active at night,” Phantom explains gently, like he’s speaking to a child. 

Benz should be offended, but he’s not. 

“And I’m gonna keep an eye on Sandman,” Stakes says. “I’ll wake you up if anything at all happens. Promise.”

He wants to keep protesting but the warmth of the blanket has his eyes drooping. He didn’t even realize he was this tired. But it hits him like a wave.

He lays down, facing Sandman but just too far away to reach his hand out and touch him. Benz falls asleep before Phantom has even stepped foot outside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I do want to say that Benz's pov is purposefully a bit narrow minded. He was extremely focused on the task at hand and so he really did miss a lot of the time that passed in this chapter. DOn't worry, that's why the next chapter is gonna be split between the ybs and the four.  
> But yeah, lots of stuff happened even though Benz is narrow minded a bit hahaha. So, let me know what you think?


	8. Young and Loaded

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNINGS:  
> *mild descriptions of IVs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone!  
> First off, i wanna address the co-author thing I added to this series this week. I've thanked her every chapter for betaing and helping with this story, but honestly i feel like she deserves way more credit than that. She is just as responsible for this fic as i am. Almost every single idea I have goes through her and we have spent countless hours just brainstorming things for this universe. she works so hard on this universe and I am completely serious when I say that this wouldn't exist without her help. So yeah, a major thank you to i-like-to-wander-around here for all of her work with this series!!!
> 
> second thing I wanna say before you guys get into the chapter is that I'm not going to promise an update every week. cause if i do say it out loud (or type it, you know what i mean) then i jinx myself and it doesn't get done on time. so, i'm gonna say i'm going to Try for once every week or so for an update. some weeks it may be closer to 10 days others it may be exactly seven. But i am trying to write consistently and get things done without burning myself out haha  
> okay, that's all. I'll let you all get to reading. I hope you enjoy!

Kobra insists on taking second watch, if only because the Youngbloods look like they’re literally dead on their feet. 

He zips his jacket as he carefully walks through the curled up shapes of his friends in the dark. Honestly, he’s beginning to realize just how much he missed the chill that the desert air gains at night. Sure, the Underground was chilly. But it felt… _different_. More damp, maybe.

But this, the bite to the air and the sound of so many bugs, _that’s_ home. As strange as it is.

Quietly, Kobra closes the door behind him and lets his eyes roam the shadowy outline of the desert. He can see the silhouettes of huge Joshua trees in the distance, along with the lights of the City. But, this far out, a few stars are visible in the night sky as well. Further out, near Four, the sky is completely lit up with constellations. It’s where Jet grew up, why he chose the name Star. 

Kobra had never seen the stars before he moved out here. He remembers being fascinated by them. 

It’s kinda sad, he thinks, how some people might live their entire lives never seeing this view. Never seeing a night sky like this.

Regardless, Kobra begins his sweep of the area by making a circle around the building while making sure to check in all directions. Even though they haven't seen anyone out here, it doesn’t mean they’re alone. But, thankfully, they’re a good distance away from Guano so they should be able to hear the engines miles before anyone manages to get here. 

Once he’s walked back around to the front, something that takes him only a few moments, Kobra sits back against the wall beside the door. He crosses his legs and lets his eyes roam the horizon.

Cherri should be here soon. He said he’d be over as fast as he could, but Kobra had insisted that he at least sleep before making the return trip. Sandman isn’t in immediate danger; they haven't finished the first round of antibiotics yet and it won’t be done for a few more hours. 

Kobra hopes that Cherri listened, that he at the very least sat down for a bit. Witch _knows_ he gets dragged all over the desert. 

He can hear someone shuffling around inside just as the sun begins to rise, still nothing more than orange and pinks streaking the sky. The door opens and Poison plops down beside him.

“Mornin’,” They mumble, clearly still half asleep.

What Kobra would _do_ for a cup of coffee right now. The Underground had good coffee. He misses it.

“Morning, P.”

They yawn and scratch at the side of their head, blinking at the sunrise. 

“Forgot how pretty it is.”

Kobra hums in agreement. It _is_ really pretty, watching the darkness of the night be overcome by the burning heat of the day. It’s familiar, something he missed without even realizing it.

“Can’t believe Benz ‘n Sandy got in a fight,” Poison says, shaking their head. “It’d be like, Jet ‘n Ghoul fightin’ or somethin’.”

Kobra huffs out a laugh. Ghoul might try to piss Jet off enough to fight, but it’d never work. He’s tried before and the most he got was annoyance in response. 

But Kobra can’t help but to agree with his sibling. Benz and Sandman are the _last_ two people he’d expect to have a fight this big. He doesn’t know all of the details, but he can figure out enough to know that some things were said that probably weren’t true. He’s witnessed Sandman’s anger first hand, back when he’d been so sure that the Youngbloods were working with the City. 

He’s the same way, blowing up over little stuff and making a big deal out of nothing. So he can’t help sympathizing with Sandman to a degree. Whatever was said, no matter how bad, probably wasn’t true. In the heat of the moment, it’s easy to get lost in your anger. Kobra’s said some horrible things to the others before, shit he regrets even now, long after they’ve forgiven him. 

At the same time though, he can’t really blame Benz for his reactions either. It’s just… a mess. 

A small part of him is sorta glad that he isn’t the one that’s going to have to clean this up. 

“Do you think they’re gonna make up?” Poison asks.

“They gotta. I mean, it’d be like me ‘n you not makin’ up after a fight.”

They think on that for a second, clearly giving this way more thought.

“They said somethin’ about Benz working with the City and, I think, that’s what the fight was about,” Poison wonders at loud. “I just don’t see it. Like, _why_? Why Benz? It doesn’t make any _sense_.”

Kobra snorts. “Benz isn’t a traitor, P. There’s no way.”

“Yeah but like, Sandman _had_ to get th’ idea from somewhere, didn’t he?”

“Or maybe it was just something he said accidentally, heat of th’ moment kinda thing?”

“Maybe,” They mumble. “But either way, I feel like Sandman _was_ onto somethin’.”

At this, Kobra turns towards them. 

“On to _what_?”

“Well like, someone had to tell the City that the Underground was there. After all this time of not bein’ able ‘t find it, there’s no way they just found it all of ‘a sudden, right?”

“Yeah, but Benz wouldn’t-”

“No, not Benz,” Poison affirms. “But _someone_ had to. It’s too much ‘f a coincidence.”

Kobra kinda hates that they’re right. 

“But who?” 

Poison shrugs. “Dunno. I think, after Benz ‘n Sandy make up, we should tell them of th’ possibility at th’ least, you know?”

“They’re not gonna like it.”

“Yeah, but it beats getting sold out again.”

That thought sends shivers down Kobra’s spine. Because yeah. He hadn’t thought about it, but if they were sold out once, then whoever it was has a good chance of knowing their location now. And sending Dracs out to find them would be too easy. Especially since the Youngbloods aren’t going to be at full strength. Hell, Sandman isn’t even conscious. 

_____________________________________________________________

It’s early the next morning when Stakes wakes. 

The sun has barely risen and there’s still a chill in the air that he knows will soon be replaced with the suffocating heat of the day.

He stretches as he sits up, yawning and glancing around the room. Phantom tells him good morning. He’s sitting on the other side of Sandman, pulling a blanket over Benz, who is, by some miracle, asleep too. 

The Four however, are awake and busy. Poison’s talking into the radio and Stakes is able to catch Cherri’s name through the lazy drawl in their voice. Meanwhile, Jet is cross legged beside them, the Girl in his lap as he fixes her hair. The two of them are talking quietly, but happily. Ghoul is digging through a bag, chucking things over his shoulder and muttering to himself. 

Kobra is nowhere to be found but Stakes figures he’s probably just on watch right now. They _are_ some of Better Living’s most wanted, after all.

Last, he takes a moment to look over Sandman. He can’t help but notice the unnatural stillness in the way he’s laying, the sweat he’s soaked in because his fever’s not quite broken yet. But he _does_ look better. That has to count for something.

It’s clear that whatever Benz did, _did_ help. He’s no longer actively dying and, after Cherri brings the last of the supplies over today, he may even wake up soon. 

Now, that doesn’t mean that Stakes isn’t still angry at Sandman. How could he _not_ be? But a larger part of him just wants to see his best friend _awake_ again. He misses him. Without him things just… aren’t the same. Sandman is the annoying, melodramatic glue that sorta sticks them together. He means the world to Stakes, to their crew, and it hurts to see him so badly injured. 

Don’t get him wrong, Stakes is absolutely going to tear him a new one for what he said to Benz. While he had a point about Benz’s whole, not shooting thing, the way he took it up was uncalled for. Even for him. 

But mostly he just wants Sandman to be okay again.

Slowly, careful of his bad leg, Stakes stands up. He feels Phantom’s eyes following him as he steps outside and breathes in the dust-filled air. It’s no surprise that the door is opening just a moment later and Phantom comes to stand beside him.

Off to their left, Kobra’s sitting with his back against the outer wall. He nods once to acknowledge them.

“Sleep well?” Phantom asks.

“Yeah. Did you get any?”

“Yeah, enough.”

“After we get the last of th’ medicine for Sandman, what… what are we gonna do?”

Phantom frowns and turns towards him. “What’d you mean?”

Stakes doesn’t know if Kobra can hear them, if he’s listening in or just doesn’t care enough to, but he lowers his voice anyway. 

“Like, are we just gonna _forget_ all this happened? Slap a bandaid on it, make them hug it out, and continue on like nothing went wrong in the first place?”

“It’s not that simple,” Phantom says slowly. “I don’t think that’ll work this time. It wasn’t just the two of them bickering ‘cause they’re cranky and they fight like old married couples. This was more than that.”

Stakes knows that he’s right. This wasn’t Benz not talking to Sandman for a couple days because he was told not to touch something in the lab and did so anyway and ended up breaking it. He _wishes_ it was that simple.

“We should meet up with the others,” Stakes suggests, trying to change the topic. “The Underground _needs_ us right now. Coming out here out of nowhere is gonna be hard on them.”

They’ve only really gone over the basics of what moving out here means for the people who lived in the Underground. Sure, they were aware of the fact that they’d be living in the desert, but almost none of them have ever actually _lived_ out here. It’s going to be a group effort to adjust and get back into something resembling how things used to be. 

“I agree,” Phantom says. “but I think that’s gonna have to wait.”

“Why?”

It’s their _job_ to take care of the people who lived in the Underground. Even if the place doesn’t exist anymore, the _people_ still do. They need the Youngbloods, especiallynow. 

“I’m not a doctor but I don’t think we should be dragging Sandy anywhere right now,” Phantom states. “We don’t have th’ equipment to keep him stable on a long trip and it’d take _days_ for us to get to the safehouse. And that’s _if_ we don’t stop frequently, which we _will_ have to do if we have Sandman with us.”

Fuck. Stakes didn’t think of that. 

And, while he understands why Phantom is right, there’s also a part of him that keeps reminding him of his- _their_ \- duty to the people of the Underground. 

Those people trust them to keep them safe, to keep things running smoothly. O’Neal can assume leadership in their absence but Stakes knows that she wouldn’t want it to become a full time thing. 

She’s told them before that while she can lead, and does so amazingly, she doesn’t want to be in charge like that. She prefers leading the guards, making sure everyone is safe that way. And Stakes respects that. He’s not even really a leader, just sorta there while Sandman makes a lot of the decisions, but he still has responsibilities. 

It just doesn’t feel right to sit here at this little shack of a shelter while the people who count on him and his crew need him. 

“How long is that gonna be?” He asks, trying not to let the words sound as bitter as they feel. 

“As long as he _needs_.”

Phantom doesn’t chide him, technically but the sharp bite hidden in his tone makes Stakes take a mental step back.

“But the Underground-”

“Will be okay without us. They’re strong, Stakes. And they have O’Neal to keep their asses in order. It’s not going to be for forever, just until we get things sorted on our end. We’re no help to them if we’re fighting amongst ourselves and Sandman's half dead.”

He has a point and Stakes argument has run out of steam. So he just nods, even though a part of him is still shouting that he’s letting the Underground down. He just hopes that everyone will understand, that nothing will go wrong while they’re too far away to help.

_____________________________________________________________

Most of Phantom’s time lately has been spent watching. 

Watching Stakes fidget and worry, knowing that taking this break is already getting to him. 

And how can he forget, watching Benz anxiously tend to Sandman; how his hands shake even when he’s fully in autopilot. 

And now, watching Cherri assist Benz in setting up the second round of antibiotics into the IV. He also brought some more bandages and some weird stuff in a bottle that’s, apparently, for Sandman to drink when he wakes up. Benz seemed to know what it was though, and briefly explained that it had electrolytes and things in it to help get Sandman on the right track faster. Phantom didn’t question it further.

But, that’s for later, when Sandman actually wakes up. For now, he’s still and quiet, unconscious but no longer dying. That has to count for something, Phantom supposes. Even if it doesn’t feel like it. 

Once the IV is set up again and Benz is done checking Sandman over one last time, they all end up sitting around the room in a circle. They share some more dog food as Cherri catches the Four up on what’s been going on in the Zones without them. The Girl, always clingy it seems, has taken to draping herself over Cherri and Poison’s laps. She plays with a string on her jacket while they all talk.

“Most ‘a th’ fighting has stopped, or as close ‘t stoppin’ as it gets around here,” Cherri tells them. “Th’ City’s focusin’ mainly on the inside of the walls right now. A lot ‘a citizens heard and saw th’ Underground go up. There’s chaos.”

“Did they start pullin’ Dracs back in after th’ Underground went all _boom_?”

Ghoul mimics an explosion with his hands.

“Right before, ‘s far as I can tell. They must’a been gathering resources in order ‘t invade down there.”

“How do you know all this,” Stakes cuts in before adding a quick, “no offense,” when it sounds too accusatory. 

Cherri shakes his head. “It’s fine. Doc has a lot of ‘joys runnin’ intel for ‘im. Tha’s how we’re able ‘t give traffic reports ‘n stuff. We gotta know what’s happening so we can warn people when there’s sign of trouble.”

“Traffic reports?” Phantom questions.

“They’re not actually traffic reports, but tha’s what we call ‘em. Basic’ly they're run downs of what’s goin’ on. If there’s Dracs out, where the Market is that week. Stuff like that. If there's a clap or someone in need ‘a help.”

“And a lot of people listen to your reports?” Benz asks.

This time, Jet answers. 

“The whole desert listens to Doc’s station. ‘E plays music too; th’ good shit that th’ City hates. And at night sometimes, Cherri has ‘is own segment.”

At this, Cherri winces like he’s been caught doing something embarrassing.

“I’d hardly call readin’ random shit a segment.”

“But it aint’ random, Cher,” Ghoul interjects, leaning forward with his hands on his knees. “Your poems ‘n shit could be _lyrics,_ they're that good!”

If he didn’t know better, Phantom might say Cherri blushed at that. Either way, something else Cherri mentioned sticks out in his head.

“You said there's a market?” He asks, curious.

“Yeah, ‘s where most people get their supplies. ‘Nless you’re th’ Four, they just bother me an Doc.”

“Hey!” Ghoul protests, laughing. 

“I’m kidding,” Cherri admonishes, smiling. “But yeah, th’ market moves around randomly so th’ City can never track it down and a lot of ‘joys sell things there. You can get almost anything.”

“Actually,” Jet speaks up, looking over to Poison. “We might need ‘t go. We don’t got a lot of food here, ‘specially not for nine people, ten if we include you Cherri.”

Poison nods their head in agreement. “Yeah. And I mean, I’m assumin’ you guys ‘re gonna stay here for a bit. Least until Sandman gets back on ‘is feet, yeah?”

Phantom looks over to Stakes. He’s looking down, most of his face turned away. He knows that Stakes isn’t happy about staying here for longer than they planned, even if it’s probably the best idea for them to ensure Sandman doesn’t get worse. But he also won’t force Stakes to stay here if he doesn’t want to. 

“Stakes?” Benz asks, unaware of Phantom and Stakes’ conversation earlier.

Phantom wonders, briefly, if this also has something to do with Hazel Storm and the fact that Stakes hasn’t gotten a chance to talk to them since the raid. He’s very private about whatever is going on between the two of them, not even really telling the others in his crew about it. But it’s something that Phantom understands. This is the first person he’s ever seen Stakes _like_ ,like this. It’s new territory for him. So maybe part of the reason he’s so ready to get back to the others is that he’s missing Hazel. 

But Phantom won’t bring that up here, not with the Four and Cherri right there. 

“Yeah,” Stakes relents slowly, still refusing to look up. “That’s probably a good plan.”

Unaware of the carefully hidden reluctance in Stakes’ answer, Poison claps their hands together with a smile.

“Perfect. We can take you! Show you around and help ya blend.”

“Do you really think we’ll stand out that much?” Phantom has to ask, glancing down at his outfit. 

It’s mainly just his usual clothes, comfortable and unassuming.

“Yes,” Poison says seriously. “Ya’ll’d stick out like sore thumbs! You’ve got like, no color on you. At best you’d look like a neutral, which isn’t always ‘a good thing, and at worst they’d think you were from th’ City. Either way, best ‘t blend in.”

Phantom is about to interject and mention the brightly colored clothes that they'd changed out of in favor of these comfortable ones. Surely their costumes are colorful enough to avoid suspicion. But Benz is speaking before he can say anything.

“What about Sandman? You’re right, he’s in no shape to be moved around and I really don’t want to leave him alone.”

“Someone can stay back to keep an eye on him,” Offers Cherri.

“Yeah!” Kobra speaks, surprising Phantom because he’d nearly forgotten he was in the room. “That’s a good idea. Poison, you can stay back to keep an eye on Benz and Benz can stay back to keep an eye on Sandman. Win win.”

Poison narrows their eyes and Kobra squints, the two expressions somehow conveying vastly different emotions despite their similarities. A silent battle wages for a few seconds, the siblings clearly not agreeing on what was suggested. But all it takes is Kobra’s eyes darting down to Poison’s neck and then to their hair, before they’re sighing in defeat. Phantom has no idea what just happened, what decision was just made.

“Fine,” Poison says, not as angry as he was expecting them to be. “I’ll stay with Benz ‘n keep an eye out.”

With the issue seemingly resolved, they all break apart to begin preparing for the trip.

__________________________________________________________________

“Cherri?” Ghoul says quietly.

He’s got his back to him, hunched over his bag as he prepares for his trip back to Doc’s. Ghoul hasn’t gotten much time to talk to him, with all the craziness going on with the Youngbloods. But he _needs_ to talk to him. 

The last thing he said to Cherri was before they went in after the Girl. Ghoul had made him _swear_ to take care of her if- _when_ \- they didn’t make it back. He’d been terrified, hadn’t slept in days, haunted by the feeling in his gut that told him that he _was_ going to die. 

And then he didn’t. 

He didn’t die. They saved the Girl. The Youngbloods saved them. And Cherri kept his promise. Jet and Kobra found him literally holding the Girl, keeping her safe after she watched them all get gunned down. 

And there’s so much Ghoul wants to say as Cherri turns around and offers him a small, knowing smile. He wants to thank him. _Needs_ to thank him. Needs to apologize for everything. For nearly dying. For being so stupid. 

But the words don’t come out. Ghoul’s never been good with his words, the sounds getting jumbled up somewhere between his brain and his mouth. But Cherri, who’s known Ghoul for so long, just understands. 

He stands up and pulls him in for a hug that he wasn’t expecting but is so fucking thankful for. He’s not ashamed to admit that he holds on a bit too tight, scattered memories of everything Cherri’s done for him flashing behind his eyes.

When he pulls away, he’s not crying, but in his chest he feels that simultaneous heavy yet weightless feeling that comes after a good cry. He manages to mumble a thank you.

Cherri laughs.

“You don’t gotta thank me kid.”

“ ‘m sorry I didn’t come with Jet ‘n Kobra went ‘t get Girly. I was just-”

“Hey,” Cherri places a hand on his shoulder. “You were still recoverin’. Ther’s no need t’ apol’agize.”

“But- but I should’a been there ‘t help with ‘th patrol tha’ nearly got ‘m and- and-”

Ghoul doesn’t know where this is coming from, this bubbling up feeling in him that makes him feel like he didn’t do _enough_. He should have _been_ there.

“Hey, none of that. You didn’t do anythin’ wrong, Ghoulie. From what I heard you were huge in helpin’ Poison durin’ that whole thing. They needed you and you were there. Jet and Kobra are okay.”

“Yeah, I guess but-”

“No buts,” Cherri chides a little stronger, but there’s no anger in his voice. “Poison was in a really bad place and you helped them through that. Kobra and Jet were in trouble, yeah, but they got through it. I know for a fact that they don’t blame you.”

Ghoul looks down at his shoes. His head is swirling a bit, flashes of times in the past where he didn’t move fast enough to protect his crew. Someone getting grazed with a blast ‘cause he couldn’t shout for them to move in time. That time he set off a bomb too early and nearly blew Jet sky high. 

He knows that he _was_ helping Poison, that they really did need him. He doesn’t regret staying back and being there for them, but he _does_ regret not being able to be there for Jet and Kobra too. 

“I know,” He admits at last. 

They’re not upset with him, for whatever reason. Even when he fucks up, his crew might get frustrated, but they’re never actually _mad_ at him. So maybe they really don’t blame him for what happened with the patrol. Maybe it was just an accident, something Ghoul couldn’t help.

Fuck. He didn’t realize this was bothering him this much. But he’s thankful that Cherri, somehow, just like always, knows what he needs. 

Ghoul doesn’t remember a lot of things from his past, partly from losing his memory. But there are some things that he knows he didn’t remember before he got hurt. His past in the City, mainly. He was too young, too drugged up even then. 

He got out, somehow, made a life for himself here. Found friends, a _family_ that cares about him. 

And Cherri, even though he’s not crew, is a part of that. Ghoul doesn’t know what he’d do without him. 

Awkwardly, doing his best to stay quiet so everyone else in the room (who are all too busy doing their own things to pay attention to this conversation anyway) Ghoul holds his arms out.

“Can I have ‘nother hug before you go?”

Cherri gives him a soft look and brings him in for another embrace. Ghoul doesn’t remember everything about Cherri, but he remembers enough to know that he missed hugging him like this. 

_____________________________________________________________

It is somehow so much more quiet when almost everyone is gone. 

Benz had watched the other half of his crew pile into the Trans-Am with Jet, Ghoul, Kobra and the Girl. They promised to be back within a day and that they’d radio in as often as they could.

Phantom had hugged him tight and, when he pulled back, had stopped and looked at Benz for a long moment. Long enough that he was certain he was about to say something. But he didn’t. Phantom just gave him one last smile and walked out the door.

So here he is, sitting on the cold floor beside Sandman. Poison’s just outside, keeping watch. The sun’s going down again; another day’s passed that Benz hardly remembers.

He’s dimly aware that Poison is just outside the door, keeping watch so he can be here, with Sandman. He wonders if they’ve been out there long, this whole time maybe, and if he should offer for them to come inside. It’s cold now that the sun’s set yet again but Benz isn’t nearly as cold as he was the first night. Sometime since then, when exactly he can’t remember, a heavy coat was given to him. He doesn’t remember putting it on but its warm sturdiness is a good repellent for the biting cold just outside. 

Sandman is wrapped warmly as well, in few enough layers to prevent his fever from spiking again, yet just enough to keep the cold from getting to him. He’s always been too cold, shoving freezing hands into Benz’s jacket for warmth. He’d pretend to be annoyed by it, half-heartedly trying to shrug Sandman off. But he didn’t mind, not really. It was worth it to see that huge, lopsided grin Sandman would give him because he knew Benz didn’t really mean any of it.

He’s struck again by how fast everything has seemed to fall apart. He had always been under the assumption that books were making things sound so much more dramatic and profound than they really were, especially about things like this- decades long friendships coming to screeching, abrupt halts. Everything teetering on the edge of nothing all because of a few angry words.

But here, now, Benz thinks that maybe those books were right. It does feel like his world is ending, in it’s own way. He knows everything else is continuing on around them, the City and the desert rest for no-one, but to him-in his immediate world- nothing moves. Everything he knows is stuck waiting, just as he is, for something to give. For things to be miraculously fixed like he desperately wishes. Or for their fates to be decided and this lifelong friendship ended.

Benz thinks that maybe he's just read too many of Sandman’s ramblings. He likes to write, when things are bad and there are more days of him craving the pills than not. It’s usually just messy things. Talking about his anxiety as if it’s a being separate of himself, talking about his past as if they’re someone else. 

And, maybe Benz is just as crazy as Sandman, but he understands most of it. Sandman doesn’t trust anyone to read his words, no one besides his crew. And maybe that’s for good reason. Better Living would have him drugged up in seconds. But Benz always thought that he understood Sandman’s trains of thought.

Knowing him for as long as he has, that sort of thing just comes naturally in time. They can flow so well together, working as if they could read each other's minds. He’s been there for Sandman through everything, every dark night and dangerous run. Everything.

And Sandman’s been right there for him as well. He helped Benz get adjusted after they became traitors and public enemies number one, (that is, before the Four began to stir trouble in the desert). He comforted Benz when he lost a patient. When he found out that his parents were told he was killed and that was why the City could bully him into doing what they wanted. 

So why? Why now, after all of that, does Benz not understand _why_ Sandman did what he did?

\--

\--

It’s not until much later, when he can hardly keep his eyes open, that the first sign of life comes from the bundled form on the floor beside him. Benz nearly misses it, the slow turn of Sandman’s head towards him. But he cannot miss the low, quiet groan. 

He’s leaning over immediately, wide awake, watching Sandman’s face contort. Then, his eyes open. 

Benz’s breath catches as Sandman blinks once, slowly, as if the effort of that small feat alone is overwhelming. Sandman takes a breath, deeper that any he’s taken in a while, and frowns.

Even in the dim light, the gloss to his eyes is apparent. He’s barely awake. Benz’s throat closes up and all he can do is reach out to take Sandman’s hand.

At the touch, Sandman’s frown deepens and his eyes struggle to focus on Benz. 

“Benz?” He rasps weakly. 

“I’m right here.”

He squeezes Sandman’s hand to prove it. He’s able to watch the confusion grow again, how his eyes unfocus a little more. Maybe he’s naive to hope for more than this, for something close to a reason _why_ , the second Sandman wakes. 

“Benz,” he calls, like he’s getting further away.

“I’m here, Sandy.”

He should be angry. He shouldn’t be this worried over someone who hurt him like this. But he is. His heart twists inside his chest at the way Sandman’s breaths become fast, irregular. He’s panicking.

“Easy,” Benz pleads, squeezing his hand again. “You’re okay. You’re safe.”

“Ollie?”

His breath catches. No matter how badly Sandman’s been hurt before, he’s never-

“Ollie,” He calls again, desperately.”

“Shh. I’m here.”

Benz can’t get his voice to stop shaking.

“Ollie, I- I need to-”

“Hush, Sandman,” Benz snaps, but it’s gentle. He can’t bring his voice above a whisper. 

“Tell ‘im I’m sorry. Tell ‘im for me. Pl’se. Ple’s.”

Whatever thin grasp on coherency Sandman had, it’s gone. But Benz finds himself nodding, promising earnestly that he’ll tell Ollie that Sandman is sorry. The name feels foreign as he says it, but it’s impossible to miss the way Sandman relaxes afterwards. He falls asleep again without another sound. 

Benz sits there for an impossibly long moment, his hand still gripping Sandman’s. Then, everything catches up and he’s pulling in a ragged breath, one that burns as it is pulled from him. He bows forwards, covering his face with his hands and trying, desperately, to figure out the bundle of _something_ he feels in his chest.

It hurts, yes. From their fight. But there’s something more there. Something nearly familiar in the way it makes him want to protect Sandman with his dying breath. Protect the man who used his first waking moments after being on the brink of death, to make sure he knew he was sorry.

And Benz doesn’t quite know what to do with that. With the way Sandman _sounded_. Like the only thing he’d thought of this whole time was apologizing. Which is impossible, given the very important fact that he was dying for a good part of the past few days.

But still. It leaves something in Benz, not necessarily a bad something. It’s almost… almost forgiveness beginning to form. And a part of himself is angry at even _thinking_ about forgiving Sandman after this. 

But then he remembers Sandman’s voice and that anger dissipates. 

He doesn’t know what to do but, the only thing he _can_ do is work with what he has. He can make sure Sandman recovers enough for a _real_ conversation about what happened and then, maybe even an apology. From both of them.

Benz certainly didn’t mean a word of what he said to him. None of it. He’s not a spoiled kid, not anymore. He’s always been understanding of Benz’s… hesitancy to shoot. This fight was the first time he’s ever actually gotten angry over it. 

So yeah, maybe they both need to apologize, but Sandman is definitely going to go first.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, lots to unpack here huh?   
> Benz's real name is something i'm really proud of, to be honest. (Ollie is short for Oliver by the way) it fits his character so well, I think. I love him so much and it's been so fun to have more of his personality shine through lately!  
> also, hmmm two youngbloods who've hardly ever been in the desert going to a market full of killjoys. what could possibly go wrong?  
> Also, see, Sandman's awake. Sorta. You are all safe from that major character death tag. (for now at least *evil laugh*)
> 
> So yeah, what'd you all think?


	9. Trying to blow out the pilot light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNINGS:  
> * talk of addiction and drugs (medication)   
> *brief medical mention

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!   
> I apologize for the slightly longer than usual wait! This week has been a bit stressful. But, today is my birthday (22 now, feeling old XD) and so I figured I'd surprise you all with an update!  
> First thing I wanna mention is that the very brief research I did on sign language gave me a quick youtube video of someone making the one sign I translate literally, here. So if there is any mistake please let me know and I will fix it right away!  
> Also, I did another, somewhat less brief, bout of research for tools and mainly the swiss army knife. I don't go into great detail on it, but if there's mistake or error on that too please feel free to let me know! I'm striving for as accurate as I can get it hahaha  
> Huge thanks to @i-like-to-wander-around-here as always!!   
> That's all until the end notes! Hope you all enjoy!

The Market isn’t anything like Stakes expected it to be.

In his head, he had pictured a few worn down tents popped up in random places and a few killjoys roaming about. 

In reality, it’s _massive_. There’s maybe sixty or so tents scattered around in the valley between two towering dunes of sand. He can hear the sound of music and the crowd before they’ve even walked (more like slid, in his and Phantom’s case) down the dune they parked behind. 

The Four are in front- minus Poison of course- but they don’t have their weapons out or anything. The Girl is holding onto Ghoul’s hand, excitedly pointing at something and asking if they can go to that tent first. 

Jet and Kobra are in the front, less enthusiastic than the younger two but still way more relaxed than Stakes feels. 

He shoots Phantom a glance out the corner of his eyes. He’s walking just beside him, his eyes carefully roaming the scene in front of them with the sort of wary caution that Stakes feels as well. 

When they make it down the dune and are standing in front of the first row of tents, Jet turns around to face them. He’s wearing borrowed clothes, namely a dusty brown jacket that they found in the trunk of the ‘Am, and his hair up in a bun. 

“So, what do you guys think?” He asks, smiling.

The Girl is already pulling Ghoul’s arm trying to lead him over to something. Stakes watches, amused, as Ghoul laughs and allows her to drag him towards a tent. 

“I’m gonna go with Ghoul.” Kobra states before turning around and going to the grey tent the other two disappeared into.

Stakes wonders if he should be worried. This place is huge and all the tents look so much alike. What if they get separated? 

“Don’t stress,” Jet says, like he can read his mind. “We know a bunch ‘a th’ people who run these tents. We’re safe here.”

Stakes doesn’t bring up the fact that everyone out here probably thinks the Four are dead. 

“I hate to bring this up now that we’re here,” Phantom interrupts. “But we don’t exactly have any money.”

“Don’t worry about that. We found a little in the car, stuff we stashed away for emergencies. It should be ‘nough to cover what you’ll need. An’ if not, tradin’ always is an option. We don’t have much but like I said, th’ people here know us, we can promise them stuff later.”

“And that works?” He asks, surprised.

You’d think the killjoys running these tents would have insane prices and would demand payment before you could even look at the thing you were buying. 

“Yeah,” Jet says. “We gotta look out for eachother out here. An’ th’ Market’s the one place where violence ‘n shit is a no go. We may not always get along with other crews but here we try ‘n look out for folks.”

“Okay but like, doesn’t everyone think you guys are dead?”

Stakes doesn’t mean to blurt it out like that, but it’s _true_. The news of their deaths were _huge_ and the City really has had a hard time keeping the desert in line in the aftermath of it. 

Jet, for his part, doesn't really react. He winces, just barely, but when he answers his voice is calm and unhurried. 

“True. But we’re back in th’ desert now. Word ‘s gonna get out eventually. I'd rather tell the people who knew us personally first, before it becomes word of mouth, you know?”

“Oh.”

“Isn’t that dangerous,” Phantom cuts in.

If Better Living knows the Four didn’t die, then they will stop at nothing to finish what they started. Stakes is terrified _for_ them.

“The City isn’t gonna leave us alone,” Jet replies calmly. “We tried that when we stayed with you guys. No point trying to prevent the inevitable. If word is gonna get out, I’d rather it be on our own terms. And besides,” At this, Jet begins walking them towards a tent near the one the other three went through. “It’s not like we’re gonna tell everyone.”

Stakes doesn’t say anything else because he’s too busy staring at the inside of the tent. It’s way bigger than it looks on the outside, with pop up tables neatly arranged in a half circle around the walls. A few killjoys are browsing and there’s two people standing directly across from the entrance. 

The first has their head down, dirty blond hair falling down around their face in greasy clumps as they put what looks like money into an old box. Their outfit is pretty quiet, for a killjoy, with all black except for a few lines of a bright green down the sleeves of their jacket. They also have a _fuck ton_ of pins attached to their clothes, but Stakes is too far away to make them out properly.

The second person is tall and strong looking. They have dark skin and hair that is bleached white. It’s up in some form of complicated design that Stakes doesn't know the word for, and when they turn slightly to face the three of them, he notices that their left arm is a prosthetic. 

They squint at Jet and Stakes feels his heartbeat skip in his chest. If they’re recognized by the wrong people, what will happen?

He knows that Jet said violence wasn’t a thing here but what if that’s changed over the past few months?

The person lifts their head up, searching each of them slowly. Then they turn to Jet. 

“Do I know you?” They ask in a slow drawl.

Jet smiles. “I should hope so, otherwise the soap I brought back for you will go to waste.”

The person’s face blooms into their smile and they step forward so fast that Stakes barely registers that they’re pulling Jet into a hug before they’re laughing loudly.

“I _knew_ you wer’nt ghosted!” 

Jet laughs as he returns the embrace. They pull apart as the second person comes over to stand beside the other.

“Told you Ben,” says the first person. “I knew th’ City ain’t gettin’ th’ better of the Four.” 

The second person just nods and gives Jet a smile.

“It’s good to see you guys, you have no idea,” Jet says genuinely.

Stakes feels the eyes of the second person, Ben, on him and he turns his head to find them staring at him, unblinking. He tries to smile but they just keep staring. 

The first person catches on and gently slaps the back of his hand on Ben’s arm.

“Jet, Ben says that, ‘nless Kobra and Ghoul completely changed their style and bodies, I don’t think we recognize your friends here.”

“Oh,” Jet says, still smiling as if Stakes isn’t more confused than when they walked in. “Can I trust you guys ‘t keep a secret?”

“You know you can.”

Jet nods. “You hear ‘bout th’ Underground goin’ boom?”

“Hear about it?” Remarks the first person. “ Is th’ biggest news since your deaths. Or well- your fake deaths.”

“Well, me ‘n my crew were staying there, in the Underground. The Youngbloods took us in. And this is half of them.”

He gestures to Stakes and Phantom.

“Hi,” Stakes says awkwardly, waving a little. “I’m Stakes.”

“Phantom. I take it from your face that you don’t know who we are?”

The first person laughs. “I’m Raven an’ this is my sibling Ben. We know _of_ you but it’s just one of those things, you know? You hear about people but sometimes you don’ know they exist for sure.”

“We exist,” Phantom says, laughing a little as well.

Stakes feels himself relaxing, despite himself. These people are strange but, well they seem nice. 

“We were uh- hoping that you’d be able to help us get some supplies?” He pipes up. “We’re gonna be staying out here for longer than we planned.”

Raven nods. “Sure. What kinda stuff were you looking for? I mean- we carry the basics. Med kits and fire starters. Also got a deal on Power Pup, if you were lookin’ for food.”

“One of our own was hurt. He’s on the mend but we will definitely need to restock our medical supplies if we can,” Phantom says. “Food also sounds like a good idea. But do you have anything other than Power Pup?”

“No. Not right now. It’s harder t’ get supplies out. Power Pup is made in a factory right by the border so we can sneak in an’ get it easily. And I know it don’t compare t’ City food but it’ll keep you from starvin’.”

When Phantom and Jet start getting into the details of what exactly they need and how much, Stakes zones out. He wanders over to one of the tables nearby.

Carefully placed out over the dirty plastic, are a variety of small tools. All of them look second or third hand but, there’s a surprising collection here. He spots a homemade welding rod as well as a mix-matched set of tools in an old tool box. 

He reaches out and picks up a small screwdriver. It’s weighted heavily and, when he takes the bit off he discovers that it’s maginitized to stay on. 

Movement to his left makes him turn his head. He finds the second person, Ben, he thinks, standing beside him. 

“Uh- I was just looking.”

They nod and point wordlessly to a different tool on the table. It’s shaped like a small pocket knife but, when Stakes picks it up, he finds that there’s a whole bunch of different tools that you can pop out. There’s a screwdriver, a blade, a can opener, nail file, and a fuck ton of other things. 

Ben begins signing and Stakes mentally curses himself because he doesn't know what they’re saying. But, by some stroke of luck, Phantom has joined them and starts translating.

“They say it’s a Swiss Army Knife. It has a ton of different tools in it. They wanna know if you like it.”

Stakes nods. This small little thing could replace nearly _all_ of the tools that he lost now that the Underground is gone. He could spend _weeks_ figuring out all the things hidden inside. It’s fucking _cool_ , is what he’s trying to say.

“Yeah, it’s awesome! Uh- how much for it?”

Stakes doesn’t have any money and he really doesn’t want to ask Jet to spend some of the emergency money on something like this. But it just- it’s so _cool_ and useful. And if it’s not too over priced, Stakes could even argue that it might just come in handy now that they have to live out here.

Ben signs something, holding up both hands and making two circles before sliding a finger over one palm. 

“They say it’s free.”

Stakes frowns. “Are you sure? We can pay.”

They do the sign again and Phantom laughs. “They insist. A welcome to the desert present.”

Stakes laughs and puts the knife in his pocket. “Thank you. Seriously.”

After that, Raven comes over with a bag that they hand to Jet. It looks full to the brim and heavy. Jet thanks them profusely, promises to keep in touch, and then leads them back outside. 

It’s not until they’re walking into another tent (most likely the one Kobra, Ghoul, and the Girl went into. But Stakes can’t be sure) before he realizes that they never paid for the supplies.

“What about paying them?” He asks Jet, concerned.

Ben and Raven had been so nice; he doesn’t want to not give them compensation for all the supplies they just helped them get.

“They owed us a favor and wouldn’t let me pay,” Jet tells him, smiling. “I wouldn’t worry about it.”

_______________________________________

It’s only a little while later, after they’ve radioed in with Poison and Benz, that the five of them are finishing up the last of their shopping.

Jet has the largest bag, the one from Raven and Ben, slung over his shoulder while the Girl is clutching a set of markers that she and Ghoul found. Stakes has his Swiss thingy- he’s already forgotten the full name- secure in his pocket. And Phantom has another, smaller, bag on his shoulder that contains a small assortment of non-perishable food. Some of it is the dog food that they had before but they were also able to find someone selling cans that didn’t have any labels. Stakes doesn’t really care what’s in them, so long as it’s not more dog food. He doesn’t know how the Four can _live_ on the stuff. 

The only thing they have left to get though is some water. Jet explained that it only rains every few months and, for the most part, they have to make use of what little they can sneak out of the City and what they save after purifying the acid rain that comes every few weeks. 

He must make a face at the acid rain part, because Kobra snorts.

“It’s not actual acid,” He tells Stakes. “More like, fizzy water. You can’t drink it, but we got a purifyin’ set up back at th’ diner. After a few dozen runs through, it’s still disgustin’ but it won’ kill you.”

“That’s… that’s not reassuring.”

Ghoul laughs this time, giggling as he munches on some of the food they bought for today. 

“You get used ‘t it.”

The others keep walking but Stakes sorta hangs back. 

He knows that them staying here is what’s best, for now. He knows that Sandman needs to rest before they do anything. But he just… _hates_ not getting a choice in the matter. Hates how different everything is. He’s never been very good with change. 

“Hey,” Phantom says, falling back to walk beside Stakes. “I was thinking about calling the safe house today. I wanna talk to O’Neal, see how things are going, you know?”

There’s a weird pause that tells him Phantom has more to say but is taking a long time to actually say it.

“And, I was thinking that maybe she could put Hazel on for a bit.”

 _Fuck_.

You know, Stakes had been doing a damn good job of _not_ thinking about them. And by not thinking about Hazel, he means stressing about them almost every second he’s spent not stressing about the idiots in his crew.

He knows that no one was lost in the evacuation- a _miracle_ , really- but he hasn’t been able to stop worrying about them. If they got out okay. If they were hurt. 

And it’s stupid, but he also stresses about all that other, unimportant, stuff too. Things like, are they even close enough for him to be worried like he is. To _miss them_ as much as he does.

It’s not like they’re dating. They’re just… 

Well he doesn’t know the word for what they are. Better than friends but still not lovers or- or partners or anything. 

Just the _thought_ makes his chest hurt. He’s trying to do better, to not bog down whatever this relationship could be with all the shit in his head. But it’s hard. He has not felt like this in a very long time. 

“You know you don’t have to,” Phantom says when it’s clear Stakes is thinking too much for his own good.

“I know. I know. I just…”

“It’s not the same you know.”

Stakes looks over to Phantom, trying to figure out what he means. 

“It’s not gonna end the same,” He clarifies. “This is different.”

“We can’t _know_ that.”

He doesn't mean for it to come out like that, but it does. His voice breaks and he’s suddenly having to fight very hard to push down the memories that spring forth.

“Stakes,” Phantom places his hand on his shoulder, slowing them down more. “What happened before was horrible, but-”

Before he can finish, the two of them run into Jet’s back. Which is odd because they were a good bit ahead of them just a second ago.

But Jet doesn’t really turn around, even after Stakes runs into him. Even Ghoul and Kobra are still, and Ghoul looks _concerned_.

They’re all staring at something a few tents down and so Stakes tries to peer around Jet and see what it is. But it just looks like the rest of what they’ve seen today. A bunch of ‘joys milling about, in and out of the tents. 

A shock of red hair catches his attention and he squints. 

“Is that Poison?” He blurts. 

They’re the only person he knows who has that shade of hair. They’re leaning over a table set up in front of a tent, their back to the group.

“Why the hell,” Jet mutters under his breath.

Weren’t they supposed to stay back, keep Benz and Sandman safe?

Just as Jet steps forward, probably to give Poison an earful, they turn around. It’s obvious instantly that this _isn’t_ Poison. 

They're a bit too tall, their face shaped more long than round. Stakes is about to shrug it off when he hears Kobra curse under his breath.

“Do you think that’s ‘im?” Kobra asks aloud.

“Wait- who?”

“Prob’bly. Poison said ‘e was actin’ just like ‘em,” Jet answers, ignoring Stakes growing confusion. 

Jet places a hand on his blaster and Stakes tenses. 

He has no idea who this is, but if they’re bad enough for the Four to be this on guard just seeing them across the Market, then he can guess that he probably doesn’t want to meet them.

No one moves as the Poison look-alike strides over to another tent. They jut their chin up, just like Poison, as they apparently try and heckle with the owner of the tent. Stakes can’t make out what is said but he does notice someone else, a small-ish kid who’s clothes look like they have never been washed. The kid sneaks around the side that the owner can’t see and snatches some things off the table. Only once the kid is gone does the red-haired person stop making offers to the owner. 

They walk towards where they’re all standing. Everyone else manages to step aside but Stakes is shoved out of the way as they go by. He nearly hits the sand but thankfully Phantom’s arm shoots out to catch him. As he’s straightening back up, wincing at the return of the ache in his leg, the look-alike is now on down the beaten down path.

Stakes watches as they talk to the kid from before and take the stolen items out of their hand before shoving them in their own pockets. The kid looks, not exactly happy that the theft was successful, and follows along as the Poison look-alike walks into the crowd. 

“Who the fuck…”

“That’s Val Velocity,” Ghoul mutters. “Poison heard ‘bout ‘im on th’ waves. ‘Parently he’s stinking shit up here.”

“And the kid?”

“No clue,” Kobra answers this time. “Prob’bly one ‘a his crew. He’s got a big one, way too many t’ be a good thing.”

“He looks like them.”

“Tha’s cause he’s tryin’ ‘t _be_ them,” Jet nearly growls. 

It’s as angry as Stakes has ever heard him.

“We should go,” Jet adds, gripping the Girl’s hand tightly as he quickly begins to walk away. 

“What about the water?”

“We can get it later.”

___________________________________________________

The first thing that Sandman hears is voices.

They’re distant, far away, yet just loud enough for him to make out. They almost sound familiar.

Through the thick fog in his mind, he is vaguely able to remember that he was injured. He remembers the feeling of the blast hitting him, how he chose to ignore the pain so he could keep going. 

All he’d been able to think about was his crew, getting them out, getting them to safety. 

He must have done that, gotten them somewhere safe. He didn’t exactly plan on surviving but it’s almost a pleasant surprise. Or- it _would_ be if he could be certain he’s not still actively dying. 

The all encompassing ache he feels could very well mean that he is too far gone to save. Or the fact that opening his eyes, or moving at all, feels like an impossible feat. 

His mouth is dry, lips so chapped they feel stuck together. His head aches, right behind his eyes, and his middle feels like it went through a meat grinder. 

He’s awake, yes. But only barely. He drifts, in and out, the sound of the voices fading out and then returning again and again.

After some time, they return louder, closer. He’s able to make out words, snippets of conversations. 

“-talked to the others,” Whispers one voice. “They said they’d be back soon.”

Another person sighs, quiet and resigned. 

“Why didn’t you wake me up?” The second person asks, sounding tired but not angry.

“You needed th’ sleep. An’ all that was really said was tha’ nothin’s happened.”

There’s another sigh. “Sorry…”

Sandman can’t help but to flinch as a sudden hand is placed on his forehead. There’s a sharp intake of breath beside him and the hand goes from simply touching, to gently pushing his hair back from his face. 

“Sandman?”

“Is he awake?” Asks the first voice, closer now. 

Sandman tries to answer, to say yes, but all the static in his head makes it come out more of a groan than any real words. 

“Sandman,” Comes the second voice… sounding quite a lot like Benz. “Can you hear us?”

He manages a groan again and struggles to pry his eyes open. 

A brightly lit room comes into shaky focus. Dust floats in the beams of sunlight coming through a broken window. Benz’s hand is still against his head and his face leans over him hopefully.

“ ‘nz?” 

Benz’s face breaks into a shaky smile. “Yes, who else would it be?”

The normal playfulness of that remark is weighed down by something else, something Sandman can’t figure out. It looks almost like he’s… hiding, pushing what he really thinks down. 

_“You just tag along, act all fuckin’ smart, but you don’t pull your own weight.”_

His own voice echoes in his head, harsh and cold. 

The next memory is of Benz, his face red with anger and hurt.

_“Do you forget all the times we’ve had to write you out of runs because we were going to be in contact with some form of Better Living pills and I couldn’t trust you to not shove them into your pockets the second I turned my back!”_

He wasn’t _wrong_ , and maybe that’s the worst part. Benz has been forced to leave Sandman back at home because he was in no shape to be trusted around any form of medicine. 

Maybe even worse is that it was as recent as their last run that he felt the temptation to just snatch a few bottles, hide them so his crew wouldn’t see. 

And he hates that Benz was right. That his argument was _true_ while Sandman’s was just full of anger and frustration that he really, honestly never meant to take out on him.

“Why’re you… here?” He whispers, breathing heavily from the strain.

Benz’s guarded expression turns stormy and he presses his lips into a firm, unforgiving line. 

“Because _our_ friends asked me to. I came back to keep you from _dying_ , you ungrateful asshole.”

“Okay,” Interrupts the second voice, who he’s now realizing is Poison. They put a hand on Benz’s shoulder. “ _None_ of that right now.”

They give Sandman a look too, one that dares him to try and start anything. He has half the mind to ask Benz why he feels the need to act all high and mighty after he holds just as much fault for the argument as he does. But, even if he doesn't like it, he feels like absolute dogshit and really doesn’t have the energy in him to waste on arguing. 

“Thank you,” Poison says pointedly before turning to Benz. “I’m gonna grab the stuff for him ‘t drink, if you two start fighting I can and _will_ separate you.”

Neither of them argue and Poison goes over just out of sight and begins to dig around for whatever it is Sandman is going to have to drink. 

Benz takes a very deep breath and lifts his eyes just enough to see that Sandman is still watching him.

“Are you in any pain?” He asks, slipping back into autopilot. 

That shouldn’t hurt. But it does. Benz is cold to him when they fight, yeah. But it’s never like this. He’s completely closed off and while Sandman is not about to apologize for anything until Benz does, he also hates the look on Benz’s face right now.

“No,” He lies. 

His entire middle aches, so does his head, but it’s clear that they’re far away from the City so it’s doubtful they have anything for the pain anyway. He’s had worse. 

He feels the sudden urge to sit up, to stop laying here with Benz looking at him like _that_. 

With much more effort than it should be, Sandman pulls his elbows beneath him and drags himself up. His arms shake from the strain and give out, but Benz just sighs and pulls him up. He scoots what looks like a pile of clothes over and uses them to prop him up a little more.

Sandman takes a moment to try and breathe through the pain such a simple movement causes. It’s now that he notices the very basic IV connected to his arm and running up to a makeshift pole. Really it’s just some sticks and tape, but he stares at it anyway. Wondering what exactly they gave him and also wondering if Benz _knows_. 

He didn’t tell anyone but Phantom about the whole, craving the damn pills again thing. But with the way Benz’s eyes follow his to the IV, Sandman is able to see the recognition on his face anyway.

“It’s just antibiotics to fight off the infection and something for the pain. I don’t want to hear a _word_ about it. You would have _died_ without them.”

Sandman wants to argue, to ask why Benz thought it was a good idea to give him _anything_ right now, but for once in his life he listens and doesn’t bring it up. 

“What happn’d?” He asks again, hating the way his voice sounds so breathy and weak.

Poison comes back over then, a bottle of something in their hand that they uncap and, carefully, hand to Sandman.

“Drink that. Slowly. You don’t gotta get it all down but at least try.”

He squints down at the light pink drink. It smells almost sweet but unfamiliar. There’s a straw poking out the top and he wonders where on earth they managed to find it. 

He takes a sip, hands shaking as he lifts the small bottle. It tastes like artificial cherry flavoring but it’s not bad. He takes another sip. 

“We evacuated the Underground,” Benz begins to explain as he accepts a different bottle from Poison. “Everyone got out. I didn’t shoot a Drac. We fought. You told me to fuck off. And, sometime in all of that, you were shot and were too much of a stubborn asshole to tell any of us.”

Sandman averts his eyes. 

In the moment, filled with adrenaline and panic, he’d decided that getting his crew out was more important than his injury. That if it killed him, it killed him. Or if it wasn’t lethal, then it wasn’t worth bringing up either. 

Not his smartest decision but, at the time, it _had_ made sense. 

“My crew separated from the group of people leavin’ th’ Underground,” Poison adds, clearly trying to break the heavy weight that’s settled over the room. “We went back and got th’ ‘Am. Found Benz and then th’ rest of your crew once we got back ‘t the desert. You were in bad shape so we stayed and Benz patched you back up.”

They pause and give Sandman a very long once over. He is a little taken back by the age in their eyes right now. How they seem so much older than he knows them to be. He feels almost… scolded. 

“You would have died. In fact, you very nearly _did_. I’m not gonna get into this fight, tha’s between th’ two ‘a you, but Benz saved your _ass_. And I want you to remember that before you say anythin’ else stupid. Okay?”

Sandman just blinks.

His head spins, a combination of exhaustion and too many thoughts going through him at once. 

“Benz,” He whispers desperately. 

He doesn’t know if he’s apologizing or gearing up to fight again. But it doesn’t matter. Benz simply shakes his head. 

“Not now. We’re not arguing right now. You’ve been awake _ten minutes_ and you were unconscious for the better part of a week and…” he takes a steadying breath. “Just- not yet.”

“But-”

“You should try and sleep,” Benz interrupts. “You need it if you want any hope of recovering.”

It’s the way he says it, almost a warning, that makes Sandman listen. Is his health really so fragile that he might backslide at any moment?

All he has to do is read Benz’s expression to know that that’s the truth. 

But it’s not like he can fight back as Benz lowers him back down. He pulls what looks to be a large hoodie over Sandman’s lower half and adjusts the IV a little.

“I’ll take it out tomorrow, most likely,” Benz says, mostly to himself. “The others should be back in a few hours. They’ll want to see you. So get some sleep.”

For once in Sandman’s life, he doesn’t fight that sentence. He’s pulled into sleep the moment he lets his eyes fall shut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots to unpack again in this chapter haha
> 
> First off, Ben's full name is Big Ben like the thing from England. I think that's where it is, it's late though so forgive me if that's wrong hahaha  
> And second, we Finally got a little hint there into Stakes' backstory! His was the only one we didn't really have much on up until now. If any of you have any guesses, I would lvoe to hear them. Though I won't be putting spoilers in the comments!   
> Next, Sandman finally woke up! Ah! That scene was SO much fun to write! I love him and I've missed his povs a lot. 
> 
> I think that's all I wanted to say, but if I think of something else later on I'll add it in hahaha  
> I really hope that you all enjoyed and please, feel free to drop a comment and let me know your thoughts!  
> <3


	10. Headfirst Slide

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNINGS:  
> * anxiety attacks  
> * addiction to drugs and talk of relapse  
> * mentions of death

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi!  
> Happy New Year everyone! I hope that you're all well!  
> This one is a bit longer, and that's sorta why it took me a while to post it haha, but I do hope that you enjoy. I have to thank @clocks-are-our-friends for letting me use a headcannon that they came up with! *spoiler* the bit about the last time sandman relapsed was 100% their idea! and i fell in love with it the second they said it hahaha. Honestly like, 50% of what I say about the youngbloods has come from our conversations so, really this wouldn't be possible without them <3
> 
> Also, as always I gotta thank my amazing friend and beta, now @i-burn-bright, for all of th work that she puts in every week helping me work on the chapters and everything. <3
> 
> I hope that you all enjoy!

They work together to bring all of the supplies they got. Jet finds themself standing by the car after everyone else has gone back inside.

It’s hot as hell outside but it doesn’t bother them, not really. They’d missed it after all. And right now, Jet is more concerned with doing their best to savor the quiet. 

Don’t get them wrong, the Youngbloods are basically family at this point, they owe them a lot. But with everything that’s happened, the tension between each of the Youngbloods is starting to get to Jet. 

They just need some quiet, a chance to clear their head, then they’ll go back in.

So much has changed. Again. Like a rug being pulled beneath their feet, everything’s different now. 

Jet had thought, stupidly maybe, that things would be different now. That they’d be safe. That they wouldn’t have to do this anymore. Wouldn’t have to rake their eyes over the horizon, on instinct, to make sure they weren’t followed. 

They’re already worrying about water and how much they’re going to need this week. 

Poison was talking about going back home, back to the diner that none of them have set foot in since they left to rescue the Girl. Is it even still standing?

Or has some ‘joy blown it up out of spite, or anger towards their crew for _leaving_.

Val and his people might have even found their base on purpose and already ransacked it for all it’s worth. Jet shivers at the thought.

That place, that shitty building full of holes and spray paint, was _home_. It’s where they raised the Girl. Where they all grew to be a family. Those rooms may be filled with holes and sand, but it’s also packed to the brim with _their lives_. 

Every nightmare that led to them all piling up together on one mattress. Every shared meal, quick goodbye hug, and diaper change took place within those walls.

Jet has missed the diner since they left it, damn near ached to return to it. But now that they’re so close, and somehow so far away, they want to just _go_.

The Youngbloods will be fine on their own, more or less. And Jet is certain that they won’t feel absolutely _right_ again until they’re back inside the diner with their crew. 

But they also don’t want to just _leave_.

After everything the Youngbloods have done for them, it wouldn’t be right for them to run off right now. Not that Jet really wants to run off. Or maybe they do. 

They’re not really sure _what_ they want to do.

The sound of the door opening catches Jet’s attention. They turn their head as Kobra walks outside, The Girl by his side. 

“What’re you still doin’ out here?” Kobra asks once he’s close enough.

“Keeping watch.”

Kobra gives them a look, clearly knowing that’s not quite the truth. But he lets it slide.

“I’m gonna help!” The Girl declares as she climbs up the car to sit on the hood.

Jet scoots closer to make sure she won’t fall. They smile as she makes a gun with her hand and squints out at the horizon. 

There shouldn’t be any patrols out now, thankfully, but Jet is worried anyway. If someone from the Market recognized them, the word would spread like wildfire. They’re not sure if they’re ready for that yet, being the “face of the rebellion” and all that. 

“Hey Jet!”

“Yeah, hon?” They answer, trying to push their somewhat spiraling train of thought aside to focus on The Girl. 

“ ‘d ya think if I shot straight up I’d hit th’ sun?”

The dead seriousness in her voice nearly makes Jet crack into a smile. But they manage to hum and pretend to think on it. 

“I dunno. What do you think, Kobes?”

Kobra snorts but covers it with a cough. He leans over until their shoulders are touching and scratches at his chin.

“Prob’bly. But then it’d be dark all th’ time so I don’ think tha’s a good idea kiddo.”

She frowns and scrunches up her face in thought. 

“Wha’ if I shot _next_ ‘t th’ sun? Then maybe it’d scare off th’ _aliens_!”

Jet laughs out loud and even Kobra can’t contain his chuckle this time. The Girl’s been listening to Ghoul talk about aliens a little too much. Soon she might even start believing in them too. 

Jet can’t deny that the idea of Ghoul _remembering_ his fascination with aliens is a relief in and of itself.

“Well if you scare ‘em off, then Ghoul won’t have anything ‘t talk about anymore,” Jet reasons.

“Oh,” The Girl says thoughtfully. “Can I use my colors now?”

Jet doesn’t see why not. They help her hop down off the car and the three of them venture back inside. 

_______________________________________

Benz accepts the can Stakes offers him, not bothering to try and figure out what’s inside before he’s taking a bite. He’s surprised when it turns out to not be dog food. It might even be vegetables. 

“How was the Market?” He asks between bites.

Phantom and the others are busy categorizing the supplies they managed to get, placing the food in one pile, the medicine in another, and so on. Benz is, honestly, a bit surprised by how much they managed to get. He hadn’t been expecting nearly this many supplies.

But it does make sense. They’re gonna be here a while. 

“Nothing like back home, that’s for sure,” Stakes replies between shoveling his own food into his mouth. 

Benz watches Poison set aside a couple worn, but comfortable looking, blankets down beside where Sandman lies asleep. 

“How’d we pay for this?” Benz can’t help but ask. “It’s not like we have any money.”

Ghoul, who until now was poking around at something Stakes had brought back, looks up and smiles with his teeth. 

“We kept ‘a stash ‘a cash in th’ ‘AM, for ‘mergences.”

“And this counts as an emergency… how?”

Poison sits down on Benz’s other side, and waves towards Sandman. 

“Ya’ll aren’t going anywhere ‘ntil he’s better,” They say, matter of factly before then pausing and turning more towards Benz. “Have any of you _actually_ stayed in th’ desert b’fore?”

Stakes laughs the same time Benz shakes his head.

“We’ve come out here for runs and things, but never longer than a day. Too hot.”

Poison shrugs. “Tha’s fair. I already miss th’ air conditionin’.”

“What about you,” Stakes ventures after Benz takes another bite. “Anything interesting happened while we were gone?”

He quickly glances over to Poison. They catch his gaze and nod, probably telling him to get on with it. 

“Sandman woke up…”

Stakes’ face lights up and he leans, perhaps unconsciously, closer to where Sandman lays. 

“That’s awesome! How’s he doing?”

“Better,” Benz says slowly, trying to keep any unneeded emotions out of his answer. “He’s still really weak, though that’s to be expected. But he kept down the water we gave him. That’s a good sign.”

Stakes looks impossibly relieved, the smallest smile on his face. 

“Did he say anything about… you know?”

Benz sighs.

No, Sandman didn’t get the chance to say anything because he’d cut him off. 

It’s just… Benz is so used to being able to look at Sandman and know exactly what he’s thinking. Or at least, close enough to not be surprised by what bullshit usually comes out of his mouth.

But this is different. 

He doesn't _know_ what Sandman is going to say. He doesn't _know_ if he’ll be able to take fighting with him like that again. 

“No,” Benz answers softly. 

Stakes nods and doesn’t press any further.

______________________________

Poison slings the last bag into the trunk of the ‘AM.

They’re putting off saying goodbye. The others are all still inside, talking to the Youngbloods before they go.

It’s… odd.

They’re so fucking _ready_ to go home again. But they also hate the idea of leaving the Youngbloods.

Logically, Poison knows that they can’t stay here. The shelter isn’t big enough for all of them and they can’t risk staying here and drawing attention with their car.

But they also know that they’re going to miss the _hell_ out of the Youngbloods. They’ve helped them so much and over the short amount of time Poison’s known them, they have quickly become some of their closest friends. 

It hurts them to see Sandman hurt, to see all of them so broken by the loss of the Underground- even if no one is truly talking about it. And they understand that this is a part of life out here, moving on from the shit the City takes from you.

But things are so different now.

Poison remembers almost everything now. Remembers the City. Remembers what it did to them. What it nearly turned them into. 

And against all odds, they’ve come out of this on the other side. They’re healed, in more ways than one, in ways that they never thought possible. 

They never expected to survive this long and part of them wonders if this is what they should be doing, returning to normal. But they know in their gut that it’s the right thing.

They belong out here, belong in this world. 

Poison pushes themself off of the ‘Am they’d been leaning against and walks into the shed. Everyone is standing by the door, save for Sandman of course, saying goodbyes still. Phantom catches them in a sideways sort of hug, just too tight to be casual. 

“You better stay in contact. I wanna hear from you guys like, once a week at minimum.”

Poison twists so they can hug him properly for a long moment before pulling away. 

“Don’t worry, we’ll annoy you at least once a day,” Poison tells him gently. “You can’t get rid of us, we’re your problem now.”

He laughs. “Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Benz touches them next, just a hesitant grasp on their arm. He pulls gently and they step out of the small crowd and let him lead them towards the other side of the room, near where Sandman lies asleep. 

“Look,” Benz starts, mostly under his breath. “I- I just wanted to apologize. For making you sort of be in the middle of me and Sandman’s argument. It’s not fair and-”

“It’s fine.”

“No,” Benz shakes his head, frustrated. “No I- it’s not fair. I know it’s childish and you shouldn’t have been forced to be the referee when everyone else was out.”

Poison shakes their head. 

“Dude, I promise, I don’t mind. You dealt with all ‘a us an’ our problems. Why can’t we help out with yours?”

He frowns, as if the thought hadn’t occurred to him. 

“Hey,” Poison continues. “Can I give you some advice?”

He nods, just barely, and fiddles with something in his pocket. Poison can’t help but glance over to Sandman, Benz’s gaze following. 

“I’m not th’ best at telling th’ people I care about that I love ‘em. Ghoul had to make th’ first move for like, _everythin’_. An’ there’s a lotta times I wish I could go back to th’ past and make myself just _tell_ him how I felt.”

“But Sandman and I aren’t like that. It’s… it’s different and-”

“I know. But the same goes for my brother and Jet. I let petty shit get in the way of a lot. And it went on both sides a lot of the time. We all suck at shit like this. But I’m just saying that when you two do talk about what happened, tell him the truth.”

Benz’s eyes dart between Sandman and his own hands, his mouth opening a few times like he has something to say but can’t figure out how to put it.

“What if that doesn’t matter?” He whispers. “What if he’s already made up his mind?” “What? That whatever shit he said in the heat of the moment he actually meant?”

Benz jerkily nods.

“I know he never usually means it, neither do I, but what if this time is different?”

“He didn’t,” Poison assures seriously.

They’re not even fully sure what was said but they just… know that it wasn’t how Sandman really feels. He cares about Benz more than nearly anyone and Poison just can’t see any reality where the two of them aren’t together. 

Benz swallows and Poison doesn't say a word when his eyes begin to tear up. They just wrap their arms around him when he all but falls into a hug. It’s odd, because they’ve never seen him like this. So open, vulnerable, but it doesn’t change anything. They just hold on until he straightens up.

Other than the patches of red on his face, and the wet spot on their t-shit, there’s no evidence he was crying. They don’t bring it up.

“We’ll call in the morning,” Poison tells him.

“I’ll hold you to that.”

_______________________________________________

It’s late into the night when things finally calm down enough for them to call the safe-house. 

Stakes is buzzing with nervous energy as he paces back and forth. 

Everyone else is sitting in a rough circle, backs against the walls while Phantom holds the radio. Sandman lies sort of in the middle of their circle, asleep still, but decidedly more alive looking than he was before.

That eases some of the anxiety in Stakes, seeing his friend slowly making a recovery. But there’s still the part of him that’s dreading this radio call.

Yeah, he wants to make sure everyone is okay, make sure they’re all adjusting to life out here well enough. But Phantom’s words from earlier today, telling him that he should talk to Hazel, they keep ringing in his head.

Because yeah, he misses them like _crazy_ , but he just-

What he just can’t get past is _why_ he misses them as much as he does. 

They hardly know each other, really. They’ve come to a few of his and Phantom’s little impromptu shows. He’s helped fix their radio a couple of times. 

Hell, they've _barely_ spoken. Most of it has just been him blushing like an idiot and running away. But, for some reason, they keep coming back. Hazel waves at him in the hallways, smiles when they end up in the same room, even asks how his day is whenever they happen to be in the cafeteria at the same time.

But now, now that they’re out here and so far away, will things still be the same?

This is exactly what he had been afraid of, getting too attached. 

Phantom said this time was different. And Stakes _wants_ to believe that it is. But how can he ever know for sure?

On his next pass by Benz, his arm shoots out and stops Stakes from turning again. 

He doesn’t say anything but just the look he’s giving him makes Stakes feel like shit. He’s worrying Benz, when he’s already got so much other shit to worry about. 

Stakes shouldn’t be adding to that pile. 

Head down, he settles down beside Benz on the floor. But he can’t help the buzzing energy that makes him fidget. God he’s acting like Sandman. Freaking out over nothing. 

Maybe he owes Sandman an apology, if this is how he feels all of the time- all itchy and anxious like he’s about to crawl out of his skin.

“How are things there?” Phantom asks into the radio.

He’s already started the conversation apparently. Stakes listens to the moment of static before O’Neal’s voice filters through.

“Good. We’re working on setting everything up, getting a system up for supply runs and the like. What about you guys?”

She sounds stressed but good, and that relieves at least some of Stakes’ nerves. If it takes four of them to make the Underground work, _barely_ , then there’s something to be said for the fact that she’s stepping up and doing this _well_. 

“We’re good too,” Phantom answers, raking his eyes over the room. “The Four were staying with us and we have enough supplies to make it probably a month out here.”

Stakes eyes the small scrambling device they have hooked up to the radio, willing it to do its damn job. Maybe it’s just him being crazy, but he doesn’t even want to _think_ about what would happen if someone were listening in to their calls. 

The Four aren’t publicly _not dead_ yet and if word gets out that the residents of the Underground are hiding out, vulnerable, then who knows what would happen. He doesn’t want to risk it. And he trusts his technology. But that doesn’t stop him from chewing on his nails while Phantom continues his conversation.

“How’s Sandman?” O’Neal asks, almost cautiously.

Stakes doesn’t remember exactly when they talked to her last, the past few days are nothing but blurs, but it was almost definitely when Sandman was still in danger of dying. So, at least, there’s good news.

“Better,” Phantom says, smiling. “He was awake earlier and I’m sure he’s gonna be complaining about the sand in his hair any day now.”

O’Neal laughs through the line. If Sandman’s bitching about something, then he’s fine. 

“Good. I told the asshole he better not die on me.”

They all laugh, just a little, but are quickly quiet and listening to the call after. 

“It’s still gonna be a while until we can get to you guys,” Phantom is saying. “He’s getting better but it’s… slow. Are you sure you can hang on for a little while longer without us?”

“Yes,” O’Neal replies instantly. “We’re fine. Focus on not dying. Don’t worry about us.”

Phantom laughs, it’s quiet but the relief is visible. 

“Will do. And hey, by the way, is there any chance that Hazel’s around?”

O’Neal snorts, which makes Stakes sort of want to go snatch the radio out of Phantom’s hand and run, but then she’s putting them on and Phantom’s handing him the radio and the thought of running turns to nothing but static.

“Stakes?” 

Oh. That’s their voice. 

Fuck. He didn't think just hearing them say his name would affect him this much. But it does. His stomach flips a little and he opens his mouth to try and say something, anything, and all that comes out in a very embarrassing noise that he regrets instantly. Thank _God_ the Four aren't’ here right now to see him like this. He’s probably blushing like a _kid_.

Hazel huffs out a light laugh, amused. He can almost see their face, how they’re smiling with the corner of their mouth. 

Fuck. 

“I miss you,” He murmurs into the radio. 

A moment passes. He begins to worry that maybe that was too much, too weird. He should have started out with something better. Something like hello. Or asking if they were okay. Or-

“I miss you too,” They whisper, their tone holding that same weight as his did. 

Fuck. 

“How are you guys doing?” Hazel asks, voice low and easy. “O’Neal said you weren’t comin’ back just yet. Is… everything okay?”

Stakes takes a breath, tries to push down the racing in his heart. He can talk to Hazel. There’s nothing wrong. They’re just talking. 

“Yeah,” He says, shakily. “Things are… okay. Did she tell you what happened?”

“No. Just that you’re staying away for a little while longer than planned b’fore you meet up with us at th’ new base.”

“Sandman got hurt.”

“Oh,” They whisper, pausing for a long breath before continuing. “Is he…”

“He’s gonna be fine. But he’s in no shape to move yet so we gotta stay here for a little while. I- I’m sorry.”

“Why are you apologizing?” They ask, amusement and sympathy mixing in their voice. 

It makes his head spin. 

“ ‘cause I feel bad for just- just being gone I guess.”

“You’re an idiot,” Hazel tells him fondly. “I’m just glad you’re alright. I knew the plan but- but seeing you guys go up against so many it- it wasn’t as easy as I’d thought.”

“Tell me about it,” He says. The past few days have been nothing like they’d ever planned. “Are you okay?”

Hazel sighs but it’s too quiet for him to tell what it means. 

“Yeah, we ran into some trouble when we first got to the safe-house. Dropped a stupid board on my foot. Hurts like a bitch but nothings broken.”

“I’m sorry,” He says, sounding lame even to his own ears.

“It’s not your fault. And there’s no real harm done, just a nasty bruise.”

He wishes he was there with them. That way he could make sure they stayed off of their foot and let it heal and- 

And fuck he wishes he was there.

“How about you?”

“Huh?” He asks dumbly.

“Your leg. I know damn well that you haven't been staying off it like you should. Is it bothering you?”

Sheepishly, he looks down at his leg. It does hurt, a little. But the little bit of rest he did manage to get had made most of the pain tolerable. 

“It hurt like hell when we were getting out but not so much now. The guys made me stay off it for a day or so.”

He’s surprised to hear the clear relief in their sigh, as if they’d been worried about him. 

Stakes doesn't know what to do with that.

“Good,” Hazel tells him, the smile evident even though he can’t see them. 

“Yeah,” he breathes, smiling too.

“I’ll talk to you soon, okay? I have to go help with setting stuff up.”

“Yeah,” He says softly. “Yeah I’ll call soon. I promise.”

“Good. Stay safe.”

By the time he’s mumbled “you too” the lines already gone static.

Stakes takes a deep breath and, once he feels ready, glances up to his friends. 

Phantom is looking at him, not quite smiling but clearly proud of him. It’s strange but he feels sort of proud of himself too. 

He hasn’t done anything like this, _felt_ anything like this, in a long, long time. Ages, really.

It’s terrifying, doing this again. Phone calls from too-far away, wishing desperately to be there with them. Well- now it’s radio calls, but it’s the same concept. 

Stakes looks down at his left hand. It’s riddled with scars, all from the same day. His ring finger is bare. It hasn’t held a ring in… decades now. He couldn’t bring himself to wear it. But he remembers what it looked like, what the weight felt like. How sometimes he’d look down and notice the ring all over again. It’d leave him a smiling mess and earn him a tender smile in return, a kiss. 

Now, whenever he looks down, there’s nothing but that familiar ache deep in his chest. 

Benz clears his throat and Stakes looks up. 

“Are you okay?”

Strangely, when Stakes nods, it’s not a lie.

__________________________

Sandman doesn’t hear the others coming back. He’s only awoken when someone calls his name.

He’s confused for a moment, trying to blink away the blurriness and remember why exactly he feels so shitty. 

It all comes back to him though, as he recognizes Phantom leaning over him. He’s smiling softly and Sandman manages a weak smile in return.

“Sorry for waking you up,” Phantom tells him quietly, but quickly. “But you need to eat something.”

Sandman makes a face. He’s not hungry and just the thought of food makes his stomach turn. 

Phantom must be able to read his expression because he gives Sandman a knowing look.

“I know. But just a little. You _need_ it. _Please_ , Sandy.”

Even if he wanted to, Sandman can’t exactly fight back as he’s hauled upright. Phantom produces a can from somewhere and offers him the spoon. 

He struggles to even hold the stupid can but, finally, with shaking hands, he takes a bite. 

It tastes plain, like mushed vegetables that have no seasoning. But it’s not bad. And his stomach doesn’t pitch a fit. 

He takes another bite.

As he’s chewing, Sandman registers the quietness of the room they’re in. He remembers Benz and Poison being here before but now, the only people here are him and Phantom.

“Where’s everyone?” he mumbles, now just swirling his spoon in the can.

“The Four went back to their diner. They’ll be back around in a week, though.”

“And Benz?”

Sandman can’t bring himself to ask it directly. But Benz said it himself, he only came back because the others asked him to. Now that Sandman is no longer dying- at least he doesn’t think he is anymore- then Benz has _no reason_ to stay. He wouldn’t blame him for leaving the first chance he got.

But just the thought of Benz _actually_ leaving _hurts_. It hurts and Sandman hates it because it’s _his_ fault.

He’s always struggled with that little voice in his head that told him his friends would one day leave because of him. He tried not to listen to it, tried to assure himself that his friends stayed because they cared about him.

But _now_ look at what he’s done.

All of this…. it’s entirely _his_ fault. If he’d just kept his mouth shut, none of this would have happened. 

“ _Sandman_.”

Sandman gasps as arms wrap around him. He doesn’t know _when_ he stopped being able to breathe, when everything started to spin, but now every breath comes in a sharp, ragged gasp. His chest hurts and his head spins so much that he has to squeeze his eyes shut. 

“God _damn it_ , Sandman.”

Phantom’s voice is more clear now, nearly piercing through the fog of panic that’s threatening to suffocate him.

“I swear to god,” Phantom warns, voice somehow so soft. “If you tear your stomach I will kill you _myself_.”

His arms get tighter around him and Sandman struggles to take a breath. On his next try, he’s successful. The one after that is easier and after who knows how long, Sandman’s slumped against Phantom, boneless but no longer actively freaking the fuck out. 

He’s still breathing heavily, too exhausted now to open his eyes. 

But in his gut is this sort of… resignation. He pushed Benz away. It’s his fault. And no amount of panicking will fix this.

“Are you still with me?” Phantom’s voice rings out after what feels like a small eternity.

Sandman manages a hum. He’s still awake, somehow. 

The ache in his stomach is worse, sharper, and it threatens to take his breath again. Phantom maneuvers him around, shifting so he can hold him up better. But the movement makes pain all but burst through his middle. Sandman can’t stop the cry that forces its way out of him or the way his breaths begin to stutter again.

“ _Fucking-_ Sandman what did I tell you? ” Phantom moves around, laying him down while he mutters to himself. “Let me look. Benz will _kill_ me if you re-opened it.”

The top layer of fabric he’s been buried in since he woke is removed and his shirt pulled up. Sandman doesn’t look as Phantom carefully pulls back the bandage to inspect the damage. 

All of his energy is focused on breathing, on trying to ignore the pain and the way his heart still feels like it’s skipping beats. 

Honestly, he’s more than a little pissed at himself for freaking out like this. He’s gotten _better_ at not doing this. At preventing a full on freak out. Or at least he thought he’d gotten this under control. A tiny part of himself (the part that he _hates_ ) tells him that there is a way to stop these panics all together.

He ignores it with everything in him. He’s lasted this long without taking that route. This is the longest he’s been clean. He can’t just give that up. It’s not worth it. 

At the sound of Phantom’s quiet sigh of relief, Sandman finds the strength to lift his head enough to peer down at himself. The wound itself is… gross, for lack of a better word, and way bigger than he thought it’d be. It fucking aches but there’s only a small amount of blood seeping out. 

He just stares at it. It nearly killed him. And that’s only really beginning to sink in now that he’s looking at the damage. 

“You got lucky,” Phantom tells him as he reaches over to grab a new bandage. 

Sandman lets his head fall back again and tries to breathe through the process of Phantom cleaning him up. He hates that what little energy he had has already left him. He’s exhausted again, too drained to even try to sit up on his own. And he hates it. 

He hates being helpless like this, having Phantom have to be the one to pull the layers back over him once he’s bandaged again because he can’t do it for himself. 

Sandman can’t even fight when he starts to drift again. Scattered fragments of voices reach him, broken sentences and hushed voices.

He hears someone laugh and then a few people shushing whoever it was. Sometime later, he hears the sound of a vehicle. 

It’s a while longer until he wakes fully again. He finds himself still feeling heavy and sore, but definitely better than before. 

Early morning sunlight is bathing the room he’s in. He turns his head and notices his crew eating quietly, not really making noise. 

They all seem to notice he’s awake at once, turning around to face him eagerly

Sandman tries again to drag himself up- seriously, just sitting up shouldn’t be _this hard_. But Benz has to come over and help him up when it proves to be too much for him. Still, Sandman is grateful as he’s propped against a small pile of clothes. 

He hates that not even sitting up on his own has left him winded, head spinning. 

“Slow,” Benz assures, keeping a hand on him- for either support or to keep him upright. 

It’s after a few moments- less time than before, he notices- that Sandman feels steady enough to look around the room again.

His crew is, of course, hovering beside him with their food forgotten. 

Benz is closest, his expression carefully blank as he fusses with some of the clothes keeping him warm. Phantom and Stakes are sitting just off to the side, looks of equal concern written all over their faces. 

He wants to crack a joke, ask if he slept through Christmas or something. Anything to get these serious, sad looks to go away. Even for a second.

But he knows that it wouldn’t be worth it. 

“Hi,” He says.

It sounds lame, even to his own ears. Stakes rolls his eyes but they all seem to relax just a bit. 

“Hi,” Benz ventures, sounding uncertain.

An awkward, heavy quiet fills the room. 

“Look,” He begins, trying to wrap his head around the words that need to be said. “Guys. I-” He cuts himself off. 

What should he even say?

Does a simple apology even stand a chance at fixing things?

“I’m sorry.”

It doesn’t feel like enough but he knows that it needs to be said. Because it is the truth. He regrets everything he remembers saying to Benz that day, and probably even more that he doesn’t remember. 

“For what part?” Benz asks, his voice so quiet that Sandman almost misses the way it breaks.

“Um… all of it,” He manages. 

“Then why did you say it in the _first place_?”

Sandman looks down at his hands at Stake’s accusation.

Truth is, he doesn’t _know_ why. Everything about that day is a blur of anger and anxiety and- and _fear_. He knows what he was _feeling_ but not why that turned into the way he acted. But he does know that he regrets it. Hates himself for ever saying all the horrible shit that spewed out of his mouth.

“I- I don’t…”

“Did you mean it?” Benz questions, sharp and to the point. “Or was it just a _tantrum_?”

Sandman winces but he knows that Benz is right. 

It was just him throwing a fit, releasing all of his shit onto everyone else for no good reason. 

“I didn’t mean it.”

“Then why did you say it?” Benz presses.

He sounds _hurt_. And fuck- It’s sinking in that he didn't just act like a spoiled kid. 

No. he took _decades_ of friendship and trust and shattered it in one day. All because he’s- he’s fucked in the head and decided to lash out. Only this time it wasn’t just himself that he ended up hurting.

“You were right.”

“What?”

“I- when you said I was spoiled,” Sandman whispers. “… you were right.”

Benz frowns at him. “Sandman, you- I- damn it!” He sighs and begins fiddling with the bracelet still on his wrist. “ I didn’t mean it either.”

He doesn’t know what to say to that. Because Benz doesn’t even sound mad anymore. Just… hurt.

Somehow that’s worse.

“Sandman.” He looks over to Phantom. “Just… tell us why. Even if neither of you meant to say what was said, you still _did_. That wasn’t just a random argument. Something is bothering both of you.”

Sandman feels the guilt begin to really surface now. Because he spent enough time in the City’s stupid psychiatrist office to be able to know that he was only accusing Benz because _he_ felt guilty. And Phantom _knows_ why Sandman was hiding more than usual, why he took so much offense to Kobra’s accusations when they first met. 

But he’s realizing that, even now, Benz doesn’t know. 

And he isn’t sure if he knows how to tell him. How does he just open his mouth and break even more of his trust by telling him he’s _one more_ mistake away from being fully addicted to the pills again. 

“Ever since the Drac got into the Underground and Jet killed it,” Benz begins in a hurried voice. “I’ve been… remembering. I shot the ‘Crow the day we met but I… I never told you that I knew her.”

Sandman can only stare at Benz. At the way he’s rubbing the smooth leather of his bracelet like it’s a lifeline, refusing to look up at any of them. 

“She was my patient at one point, suffered a nasty shot to her back while she was fighting some of the rebels… back before they were called killjoys.”

Sandman remembers that, remembers hearing on the radios about horrible rebels that had spawned at the very end of the war. Kids of soldiers who never came home and those few soldiers who were able to escape.

They all died. Killed by Scarecrows. 

But the new generation of rebels, the killjoys, had risen only a few years later.

It always shocks him, how Benz wasn’t just a citizen in the City. He didn’t passively live with their standards, he worked front lines, he kept ‘Crows and Exterminators _alive_. Saved them so they could kill more rebels. 

And it’s fucked up. But Sandman knows that Benz would probably save a ‘Crow if one showed up right now at their door injured. 

“She was the guard,” Benz continues, his voice raspy but strong. “And I shot her right in the back. Right over the scar of the blast I saved her from.”

Sandman can barely remember the ‘Crow. He’s killed so many, even then he’d already taken down tens of the fuckers.

And he has always known that Benz is quite literally a bleeding heart. 

How many times has he had to physically drag him out of an operating room because he lost the patient but just- physically couldn’t give up trying to bring them back?

Too many to count. 

And Sandman _knew_ this- he knew that Benz can’t even kill a fucking _spider_.

He’s terrified of them but Sandman has seen him scoop the creatures up onto a piece of paper and set it outside the room. He’d be so gentle with the thing, talk to it and ask it to never come back in his office again. 

How the fuck could Sandman ever believe Benz could have an evil bone in his _body_?

As if Benz, the guy who’s put up with Sandman’s bullshit for way too fucking long, would _ever_ be able to work for the City again. 

“I nearly fucked up,” Sandman blurts. 

It comes out too loud and every head turns to him. 

“Nearly fucked up… how?” Benz asks cautiously. 

Sandman shoots Phantom a pleading look, silently begging him to tell them from him. But Phantom just nods his head slowly, as if telling him to get on with it.

He has to take a breath before he can begin. 

“I um… I don’t know when it got bad again but I- I’ve been craving the pills again.”

Benz doesn’t say a word, his mouth very firmly closed. There’s a million emotions in his eyes but Sandman can’t name a single one.

“I went to Phantom,” He continues. “ ‘cause I know- I know you’d kill me. And I just- I didn’t say anything because- because you’ve only recently stopped having to look over your shoulder at me on every run and- and-”

He takes a deep breath, exhaustion creeping back up on him again. But he wants to say this. Before he sleeps again, he _needs_ to get this out.

“I asked Phantom to hold onto a bottle I’d stolen-”

“From where?” Benz demands sharply.

Oh. 

“The run we went on right before we got the Four, when we got separated I found a storage room. I took one from there.”

But Benz is only asking because the last time he fucked up and self medicated again was, arguably the _worst_ he’s ever been. He’d been _bad_ , stressed out of his mind and hardly able to _move_ through everything in his head. So he’d snuck in Benz’s office.

They have to keep a few bottles of various kinds of the City’s pills on hand to help people detox from them safely. (To prevent them from being like Sandman) That includes the kind that he was prescribed, back in the City. 

He stole the whole bottle out of Benz’s cabinet and didn’t tell a soul. His crew were suspicious but happy that he was functioning better. But, the pills always come with a cost. They do it gradually, so slow you can hardly notice. The only way he can describe it is that they put up a wall between you and your actions. It’s like, in your head the real version of you- the version that is creative and free- is trapped behind a wall while on the outside you become the City’s “perfect citizen”. 

It’s terrifying, having all of your individuality blocked up in a tiny corner of your mind, but the anxiety _goes away_. He doesn’t have to fight it down all day. Doesn't have to breathe through 4am panic attacks so he doesn’t bother anyone.

It’s not worth it. It never is. But in the moment, when he’s so desperate to make it _stop_ , it feels _worth_ whatever cost.

“I took them,” Phantom speaks up. “Hid them and didn’t tell him where. They got destroyed when we blew the place. He’s clean.”

Not by his own choice.

If he hadn’t had that one moment of clear thinking, he’d probably been popping the damn things every time his crew turned their backs. He _wanted_ to down however many it took to make his brain just _shut up_.

“You were struggling that badly,” Benz states, something… something like sympathy in his voice. “For that long you were struggling and you didn’t think to _tell_ anyone until it became bad enough for you to resort to stealing.”

It’s not a question but Sandman nods anyway. 

“Why didn’t you _say_?” Stakes asks softly, like he really doesn't understand. 

“I don’t know.”

Maybe it was because he didn’t want to see the way they’re all looking at him right now.

All the concern and sympathy mixed with the frustration that comes from him pulling this shit more than once. He wonders if this is the final straw.

They’ve put up with him relapsing so many times now. At what point does it become too much? The stupid part of his brain, the part he wants to drown in the medication, tells him that now is that time.

But, all it takes is for him to look at his friends, to look at their faces and see that it’s less like they're about to chuck him out into the sand and leave him there and more like that… fierce sort of protectiveness that they show him sometimes. Mainly when he’s been very stupid. 

He thinks that maybe… maybe now is one of those times. 

“I think that’s partially my fault,” Benz admits. “I got so mad at you last time. There’s no wonder you didn’t come to me.”

“That still doesn’t excuse you acting like an absolute dick.”

Sandman winces at the sharpness in Stakes’ words. But he’s not wrong.

Even if he’d been too scared of pushing Benz further away by admitting his rising anxiety, he still ended up pushing him away by blaming him for all of the frustration he had boiling up in him that day.

“It doesn’t,” He agrees. “But I uhm… I am sorry. And I promise that I do want you to stick around.”

“I’m sorry too.”

Benz scoots closer to him, until their shoulders are touching. Distantly, he hears everyone go back to eating. It’s still awkward, still terrifying that everyone now knows his secret. But he also does feel a little better. Less… pressurized. He doesn't feel like he’s about to explode anymore.

He knows that things aren’t back to how they were. Things are still too tense, the weight of how badly he fucked up continues to lay heavy over the air, but this is… better.

Sandman sighs and shifts, sore but not yet ready to lay back down again. He watches the others eat for a few minutes and is surprised when Phantom offers him a can.

With some effort, Sandman is able to sit up on his own completely. He reaches out and takes the offered can and, even though his hands shake, begins eating. 

The sooner he stops feeling like a limp noodle, the sooner everything will go back to normal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, looks like the FOur are finally gonna go back home. I've been waiting somewhat patiently to have them back thre and i'm super excited for the next chapter! most of it is gonna be in the 4's povs, starting out the alternating chapter povs that i had originally planned on doing from the beginning. 
> 
> Also, we got another little glimpse into Stakes' past! Ah i had a blast coming up with the youngbloods backstories and everything but I must say that Stakes' isn't completly mine! To avoid spoilers, I'm gonna wait until his full backstory is out but I just wanted to say here that I got the idea for Stakes' past from another person's fic. They had a part where they sorta hinted about Ghoul's past and I immediatly had so many ideas for how i could use those little hints to form Stakes. Like I said, soon i'll put the author's name and fic title in the notes but I jsut wanted to wait until I have Stakes' past come into light that way there's no spoilers. 
> 
> also also, sandman and benz have finally stopped being As stupid as they have been hahahaha. I did wanna say though, that the comment Poison makes to themself about the two of them always being together is meant platoniclly. Sandman and Benz are best friends, close enough to be family, but it's not in a romantic way. They're more platonic partners than anything, though they don't put a lable on their relationship. I just wanted to sorta mention that again here because I can kinda see how that might read if the clarification wasn't made.
> 
> Okay, Ive rambled enough hahahaha. I do hope that you all enjoyed and I'd love to hear your thoughts! Until next time <3


	11. Make A Wish When Your Childhood Dies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNINGS:  
> *smoking

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone!   
> This chapter's gonna follow the Four's pov, since I'm gonna try and keep the chapters alternating between the 4's and the Youngbloods'. Next chapter will be in the 4's again but after that we'll go back to the Youngbloods.   
> As always, a super huge thank you to @i-burn-bright, my amazing beta, coauthor, and friend. This wouldn't be possible without her.  
> I hope you all enjoy!

Driving the ‘Am again is… strange.

Poison hadn’t given themself the time to think about how weird it would be to sit behind the wheel again. The thought had crossed their mind of course, in the split second they sat in the car again before Jet drove them out of the City. But that’s just it. _Jet_ had been the one to drive it out, back into the desert. 

And now it’s Poison who’s behind the wheel. Everything has, more or less, calmed down and it’s hard _not_ to notice how weird this all is. 

Because not too long ago they had _fully_ expected never to sit behind the wheel again. They had accepted that fact.

In the back seat, their crew is in high spirits and filled with familiar energy. Their voices barely register over the radio but Poison watches through the rear view mirror as their brother and Ghoul bicker. The Girl happily sits between the two in the back seat, laughing at their antics. 

Jet sits in the passenger seat, quietly watching the desert pass by through the window. 

Poison taps their finger on the wheel to the beat that’s thumping through the speakers. There’s no denying that they’ve missed moments like this. 

“Hey Jet,” Poison shouts over the noise. “Can you pass me a cig?”

Jet wordlessly leans forward and opens the glove box, handing them a cigarette. Poison smiles their thanks and digs a lighter out of their pocket. They hunch over the wheel and light up, pulling in a long first drag.

They usually only save these cigarettes for special occasions, preferably ones alone with Ghoul. But they don’t have any other smokes on them and they try to not feel too bad about wasting just one of the special ones from Ghoul. At least they still have a few more stashed in the carton. Maybe tonight Ghoul and them can sneak out for a proper smoke. 

Jet cranks down his window, just a tad, so the smoke doesn’t fill the car. The song on the radio ends and Doc comes on to give the traffic report. Poison turns down the volume.

There’s just news of more claps happening overnight, and how the City is still trying to get a grip after the Underground went boom. It’s nothing they don’t already know and weren’t expecting.

“Hey, P!”

Poison lifts their eyes to the rear view mirror and angle it down so they can see Ghoul. Jet’ll kill them if they take their eyes off the road for more than a _second_.

“You got any more of those?” Ghoul questions, looking directly at the smoke still hanging from the side of their mouth. 

They’d had the same train of thought it seems. Poison smiles warmly.

“Yeah, should ‘av one.”

“Uh- about that-” Jet mumbles, not so subtly looking to Kobra in the back. 

Poison squints and turns their head back to look at their brother. He looks guilty.

“You _fucker_.”

Their words don’t hold any bite, not really, but it still comes out more harsh than they’d intended.

“I didn’t have anythin’ else ‘t smoke,” Kobra defends flatly. 

Poison rolls their eyes and tries, genuinely, not to get pissed over this.

“You don’t even smoke!”

“Well then I guess I picked up your nasty habit.”

“Hey,” They shout, whipping their head back to glare at their brother. “Don’t act like you don’t-”

“Okay,” Ghoul interrupts, though he’s barely containing a smile. “Poison, we can always just buy more.”

They huff but Ghoul’s already turning back to Kobra before they can say anything else. 

“But Kobra, _seriously_? The special stash?”

“I was stressed.” 

Kobra shrugs, only mildly apologetic, and Ghoul catches Poison’s eyes in the mirror. He nods as if to say, go on, and Poison huffs out a sigh. 

“ ‘m not apologizin’ ‘ntil he buys me a new pack.”

Ghoul rolls his eyes but within minutes is back to heatedly arguing with Kobra over who could make a functioning potato gun the fastest. Poison’s still a little peeved that their brother wasted the last of their smokes but they have a hard time holding the grudge as Kobra laughs aloud in the back seat. 

____________________________________

Ghoul is just standing there.

Standing there, staring and not moving and-

And maybe freaking out a little. Just a little. Only in his head, definitely _not_ on the surface.

But, on the inside, he’s trying so hard not to drop to his knees from how hard his head is spinning. 

It’s like this every time a piece of his memories shift into place, except right now it’s like _fifty_ new ones all at once. 

He can see himself holding The Girl as a baby, arms stretched out to get her as far away from him as possible as he complains about how bad she stinks. But he can also see the time that he came in from a guard shift to find Poison passed out in the booth with the Girl sound asleep in their arms. 

Then there’s the time Jet dragged them all out back and hooked up the ancient garden hose to a makeshift pump and sprayed them down because they’d been caked in mud and dirt. Ghoul can almost feel the barely pressurized water hitting him and he can clearly remember grumbling the whole time as he’d tried to scrub himself clean.

But he can also remember the night before they left for the City. There’s no pictures attached to that memory… just that hollow sort of resignation that made everything feel like he was underwater. It’s so different from the way he felt _inside_ the City. All that Ghoul has of that is shattered, broken feelings of fear and a trillion other emotions he simply doesn’t have the names for. 

It’s jarring though, being hit with so many new memories at once. Well, they’re not new. They only feel new because he had forgotten about them in the first place.

A warm hand slips into his own and he nearly flinches until he realizes that it’s Poison’s hand. They’re giving him a concerned sort of smile, asking if he’s okay without making a big deal of it. 

Ghoul looks down at his shoes, still the strange soft ones that he was given in the Underground. 

“Wanna go in?” Poison asks quietly.

And Ghoul feels like he should pause here, turn this around and make sure _they’re_ okay. Poison’s the one with all the… the whatever that weird word Benz called their screaming and shutting down. They were so much more messed up from all of this than him. And yet… fuck he doesn’t _know_. Ghoul feels like maybe taking the time to ask Poison if they're alright isn’t the right thing to do. Maybe he should just hold onto their hand and… just walk inside?

He looks back up at them, studying their face and the way the soft wind has already made their hair tangled and messy. Their scarf, familiar shades of red and black, has been tied around their neck. They look… well they look beautiful. Stunning. Strong.

Like their old self.

Ghoul wants to gag at the words his own brain conjured up but it’s true. He can feel that near forgotten strength in them and it gives him the strength to nod and allow them to lead him inside. Some time while he was, not, freaking out, Jet and Kobra had brought The Girl inside. But they’re all still in the main part of the diner, just standing there. He and Poison arrive, hand in hand, to stand beside the others.

“Looks th’ same,” Poison remarks.

It does.

There’s an endless amount of junk covering the floor, half-finished projects and eaten cans of food littering every available surface. The zine he and Kobra had been reading rests on a nearby table; the bar still has a can and a pocket knife beside it where Jet had been getting ready to eat before-

Well, before everything went to shit. 

Behind the bar, just as cluttered as everywhere else, is a small doorway that leads into the kitchen. In front of them, beyond the open expanse of the dining area, is a small hallway that leads to their bedrooms. 

Ghoul doesn’t realize he’s shaking, either from remembering or the memories themselves, until Poison squeezes his hand reassuringly.

“I’m gonna tell th’ Youngbloods we made it safe,” Jet announces, pulling out his radio. “Don’t want ‘em stressin’ any more than they already are.”

Kobra nods and follows him into the kitchen, leaving Poison and Ghoul with the Girl. 

She’s too quiet, Ghoul notices. He’d expected her to run straight to her room. But she’s just… frozen. 

“Hon?” Poison calls gently. “You okay?”

She nods once, her face scrunched in that stubborn way that means she’s trying not to cry. Poison goes to their knees, holding out their arms for her. She barrels into them, twisting her hands into their shirt and gripping so tightly that Ghoul begins to worry that the fabric will rip.

He’s frozen still but seeing her like this, overwhelmed and probably scared, is enough to snap him out of it. He kneels down and hugs her from behind, carefully squishing her between them like he knows she loves. 

The Girl hiccups and mumbles his name and now Ghoul is the one who’s blinking back his own tears.

“It’s alright, hon,” Poison reassures her. “I know.”

And they do know, probably better than Ghoul ever can, how she’s feeling right now. 

It’s only a few moments later that her tears slow and he’s able to use the sleeve of his shirt to wipe her eyes. She smiles up at him and Ghoul can’t ignore the way his heart aches. 

He hadn’t even known who she was when he’d first woken up but now, he isn’t sure how he could _forget_.

In all honesty, he isn’t sure if he ever did _truly_ forget. The first thing he can remember when he woke up was feeling like something was wrong, that someone he cared about was in danger. Even after he saw that the others were more or less okay, there was still something missing. Someone he felt like he should miss. He unconsciously had merged it into the strange feeling he got around Poison, which he now knows was two different kinds of love entirely.

Even so, he pulls the Girl into one more hug. It’s an apology and a promise all in one. He hates that she had to go through so much but knows in his heart that he will never, ever let anything like this happen to her again.

When Poison suggests they go check out their rooms and maybe sneak in a nap, Ghoul manages to pull himself together and follows along with the Girl on his hip. 

______________________________

Kobra finds Poison standing in the kitchen. 

He’d been about to sneak a quick snack before continuing to unpack the car. But there’s something about his sibling that causes him to pause in the doorway.

Poison stands by the sink, head down, back to him. They’re tense, knuckles gripping the counter like they’re afraid they’re going to fall. 

“Poison?” 

They don’t look up but he notices their breath hitch. 

Worry floods him and he steps forward, a hand outstretched to touch them. But he doesn’t grip their shoulder like he wants, because he knows not to startle them. 

“Poison?” He asks again, softer. 

They sniff, something so quiet he barely catches it, and turn around. 

The only proof Kobra has that something is wrong is the barely visible red in their eyes. They'd been crying, either that or so lost in thought that they’d forgotten to blink. 

“What’s wrong?”

Poison looks away, crossing their arms over their chest. Their gaze flicks to the tiny window on the wall to their left.

“It’s-” They shake their head. “Just weird to be back here. Nothin’s wrong.”

They nearly sound like they’re telling the truth. Kobra almost believes them. Almost. 

“Pois, c’mon. Somethin’s clearly bugging you.”

Poison winces, as if just the thought of telling him is painful.

“It’s nothing new,” They tell him slowly. “Just- we need some supplies that we didn’t get at th’ Market and I gotta go get ‘em.”

Kobra frowns. He doesn't really get how that’s bad enough for Poison to be hiding in the kitchen over it. But then again, the last time they weren’t all together a patrol damn near killed him and Jet. So, maybe he does get it. Sorta.

“Do you want one a’ us to come with?”

Poison glances at him, thinking it through. 

“I-'' They sigh and turn to face him. “I was gonna ask if you wanted to. I’d take Ghoul but… he’s been having a hard time with all th’ memories this place brings back and-”

“Hey,” Kobra interrupts gently, before they can really start to work themself up. “I get it. I was gonna offer t’ go with you anyway.”

Poison visibly relaxes, taking a breath and running their hand through their hair. 

“I dunno why it freaks me out so much I just- I dunno. It just did.”

They sound unsure, as if they’re trying to convince themself as well.

He hates to think of them hiding something like this. Like they would before. 

But it’s not like he has much room to talk. He’s never exactly been an open book, even to his sibling. 

It’s strange how times have changed them. 

“It happens,” Kobra reassures. “Next time though, don’t hide in th’ kitchen. Please.”

At last, a smile breaks on their face. It’s tiny but it’s _something_. 

He wonders if Poison can even tell how big of a deal this is, that they’re becoming a _leader_ again. Maybe even more so than they were before.

_Before_ , they’d have told Kobra to fuck off and gone on the run by themself out of sheer spite. He wonders if Poison even notices, if they know just how far they’ve come since the day they stormed the City. 

But he doesn’t mention it. He just grabs a can to eat in the car and shrugs on his jacket while Poison tells the others they’re leaving. 

Kobra doesn’t notice they’re carrying their jacket, rather than wearing it, until they all but shove it into his lap. Without a word, they put the ‘Am in drive and hit the gas.

He stares down at their jacket, the worn leather and bright colors he’s grown to think of as Poison themself. Now that he thinks about it, it’s the first time he’s seen them touch the thing since Benz probably tore it off them when he was patching them up.

It looks the same as he remembers, soft and dusty from use. 

Kobra is wearing his jacket. He’s worn it as much as he could over these past few weeks. It was a piece of home while he was so far away.

But _Poison_ , who’s nearly died from heatstroke before because they refused to take the damn thing off, hasn’t even touched their jacket until today. Kobra glances out the corner of his eyes at Poison. 

Why would they bring the jacket along if they’re not wearing it? 

He has the sinking suspicion that he’s missing something. But he doesn’t get the chance to ask them about it. Poison cranks the radio the second they pull onto Gunao and keeps it too loud for Kobra to even hear himself think.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I started out making this one fluffy I swear!  
> But then again, this fic is going to be pretty dark. Just objectivly, most of the plot notes I have are a bit more angst-driven than anything. This chapter is one of the more fluffy ones though, with the angst only showing up a litle. I'm pretty proud of it really. Showing the four back home, already slipping into the rythums of their lives was a lot of fun.   
> Plus I got to sprinkle a little bit of my favorite thing in this chapter. Foreshadowing. I won't tell you what it is, of course, but there are a couple instances. Ones gonna happen next chapter but the rest is for later hahaha  
> So yeah, I would love to hear what you guys think! I'll see you all in a week or so with the next chapper <3


	12. It's Not a Fashion Statement, It's a Deathwish

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNINGS:  
> * brief mention of scars

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!  
> I apologize for the longer wait between this chapter and the previous one. Life's been a little... crazy lately. My roommate has covid (don't worry, she's doing much better) and so we're both in quarantine for like three weeks now. So between trying to get everything sorted with my job and making sure I would still get you know, a pay check, I hadn't had much time to write. But thankfully now that everything has settled and I'm just chilling at home for the next 2 and a half weeks, I've been able to get a lot of writing done.   
> I'm super proud of this chapter and, although it was difficult, I hope that you guys like it too. Fun fact, the main scene in this is based off the first ever scene I wrote for this au. It's Extremely different than how it first started, so much so that the original posted scene can't even qualify as cannon anymore, but it was a lot of fun to remember the first time I starting working with this au.  
> Huge thank you as always to @i-burn-bright for helping me figure out all of Poison's.... stuff hahaha. They're a hard character to write in this series so all of our brainstorming sessions have helped a Ton.   
> I hope that you all enjoy!

The mid-day sun streams through the holes in the boarded up windows. It’s already warm enough for Ghoul to shrug off his jacket. 

He places it carefully over the back of a chair and takes a moment to look around the room again. Everything does look the same, covered in dust and spray paint just like they’d left it. And maybe that’s the strange part. That this place remained the same while none of them are really the same as they were when they left.

Ghoul can hear Jet in the kitchen and, though he can’t see him, he can tell that he’s fixing a snack for the Girl. So Ghoul decides to use his first time alone in weeks to explore. 

Out of habit, he pats his hip to make sure his blaster is there. It’s an action he doesn’t need memories to do. It’s ingrained in him at this point.

He begins his exploring by taking a long loop through the dining area, stopping to look at each booth and running his hand along the back of the chairs. It’s strange because he knows that he lived most of his life, the parts that count anyway, inside this building. But the most he can remember is little snippets of it. 

Part of him wishes that he’d either remember it all, or none of it. Having nothing but partial memories is exhausting. 

Even so, he doesn’t stop after his lap around the room. Ghoul wanders down the hallway next, going so slowly that he’s able to peer into the rooms as he passes.

Jet and Kobra’s room is small but as neat as things can really get out here. Ghoul spots the familiar pile of blankets on Kobra’s side of the old mattress, balled up like a nest because he likes to sleep in a pile of them. The Girl’s room is on the other side of the hallway, to his left. Inside he can see her box of crayons and the small pile of paper they managed to find for her. There’s pictures stuck up on the walls, all of them hand drawn by her over the years. 

The sight tugs at him, the feeling strong enough that Ghoul finds himself stepping into her room. 

It’s a tiny room, most likely a broom closet back when this place was running, but it’s not like she ever really slept in here. Almost every night, one of them would wake up to the Girl curled up beside them. They never had the heart to put her back in her room after she’d fall asleep in bed with them, especially not Poison.

They don’t baby her, exactly. But she could ask Poison to dye their hair neon green and they’d probably do it in a heartbeat. Even on the nights that they were completely exhausted and she’d wake him and Poison up as she crawled into bed, they always let her stay. 

“Ghoul?”

He turns sharply and finds Jet leaning in the doorway. 

“You good?” He asks.

It’s only then that Ghoul realizes he’s picked up one of the Girl’s drawings off the floor. It’s of the five of them and it’s not even that good, really. But the longer he looks at it, at the cartoon faces and the smiley faced sun, the more Ghoul’s chest aches.

He’s not even sure why. _Why_ this is getting to him so much. But it _is_.

Because he used to sit here for hours, helping the Girl color and doing silly voices for whoever she drew. He would do Poison’s voice the most, making his own all nasally and tilting his head up like they do. She’d giggle and ask him to do it again.

Those memories feel like a lifetime ago. They’re almost as distant as what he remembers from the City. Just blurry outlines and sounds.

And he hates that that’s all he can see when he closes his eyes and tries so fucking hard to get the picture to focus. It shouldn’t _be_ that hard. It can't have been more than a couple years ago.

“Hey.” 

Jet’s voice is suddenly right beside him. He’s prying the paper out of Ghoul’s hand and only then, as he blinks wetness from his eyes, does he realize that he’d been gripping the page so tightly that it was starting to crumple. 

He lets go of it in a flash, horrified that he’d been about to ruin something so important. 

“Fuck- _fuck_. I’m _sorry-_ I-” Jet sets the page down and takes both of Ghoul’s hands in his own, forcing him to actually look up. When he does, he doesn’t see the anger that he was expecting Jet to have. Instead he just looks concerned but- but not in the bad sort of way.

“I didn’t mean-”

“Hey,” Jet interrupts, gently but without leaving any room for Ghoul to start rambling again. “It’s okay. No harm done. It’s not ruined.”

Ghoul swallows and nods jerkily. Jet holds on a moment longer before letting go of his hands. But he doesn’t step away. 

“What happened?” He asks softly.

“I can’t get the whole picture.”

Ghoul doesn’t mean to blurt it but- but that’s just what comes out. Because he can’t _ever_ get more than a few fleeting images in his head no matter what he does and even now, standing here in the place he knows is his home, he can’t remember _anything_ completely.

“Your memories?”

“Yeah- it- I remember helpin’ her draw but I just- I can’t see _more_! And it shouldn’t be this hard ‘cause all ‘a you have gotten better and so now I’m th’ only one still fucked up and-”

“Ghoul,” Jet says firmly. “ _Breathe_.”

Ghoul tries, taking a shaky breath that nearly makes him cough. But then he takes another and another, and finally his head stops spinning and he’s able to focus again.

He takes a step back, wringing his hands together and staring at Jet’s feet. 

“I’m sorry. I dunno what happened.”

“Ghoul, dude, look at me.”

He does, glancing up through his bangs. Strangely, he finds nothing in Jet’s eyes but a smile. 

“It’s okay, “Jet reassures. “Do you wanna help me set up dinner?”

Ghoul’s grateful for the change of subject, for Jet not forcing him to talk about whatever the fuck just happened. 

He just nods and wipes at his face with the back of his arm before following Jet through to the kitchen. 

___________________________________________

The desert flies by in front of the windshield. 

Poison’s going too fast but, for once, their attention is almost solely on the road, or lack thereof, in front of them. 

They are also increasingly aware of the silence stretching on between them and Kobra. Their brother has his arms crossed in the passenger seat, head turned away like he really isn’t bothered by Poison’s strange mood. 

They know he’s noticed though. He’s always been able to read them, figure out what’s going on in their head. 

But the problem is that they’re not really sure they’d be able to put what’s on their mind into words. At least not in a way Kobra would understand. Poison’s head is somewhere between fizzy static and full speed. 

But they owe it to Kobra to at least try.

Poison clears their throat and reaches across the dash to turn down the radio. This gets Kobra’s attention and he turns towards them. 

He’s still holding their jacket, gently as if it means just as much to him as it does- _did_ to them.

Poison takes a deep breath and starts simple. 

“We’re goin’ to Tommy’s.”

“Kinda figured,” Kobra scoffs.

“Yeah, uh. I just- I’m tryin’ ‘t tell you _why_ , Kobes.”

Something in their tone must show Kobra that they’re not just being an ass right now. He nods once and lets them continue.

“I dunno how to word it really. It’s like- like, do you ever get the feeling we never left the City?”

“What?” Kobra asks softly. “Poison, what do you mean?”

“Like. We aren’t who we were then anymore.” Poison swipes their hand through their hair, trying to grasp for the right words to do this properly. “At least, _I_ know I’m not the same as I was.”

Kobra is quiet for a long time. 

“Okay. Yeah, you’re a little different but what I don’t get is how this has ‘t do with Tommy’s?”

“Do you remember when I found that jacket?” 

Kobra frowns at the sharp detour in conversation but only pauses briefly before answering.

“Yeah,” He says fondly. “You fell in love at first sight and I seem to remember a few times where your dumbass nearly got _heat stroke_ ‘cause you wouldn’t take th’ damn thing off.”

Poison chuckles but when they speak their voice remains serious. 

“Well, that was the old me.”

Kobra blinks once.

“Okay… so, the new you isn’t into the jacket?”

“Kinda?” Poison sighs. “More like, it’s a part of the old me, yeah? And everything else from that version of me is gone. It died in the City and- and the only thing left is the jacket. It’s… weighing me down, keeping me there.”

That’s an understatement. Poison can hardly look at the thing without being reminded of the arrogant, naive, person they’d been the last time they wore it. 

“You’re getting rid of it.”

It’s not a question. And it’s not wrong.

“I have to,” Poison answers quietly. “I’m not that person. I don’t- That jacket means something that I’m _not_ anymore, Kobra.”

Kobra blows a sharp breath and, for a moment, Poison fears that he’s going to scold them. 

They know that they’re the one that’s changed the most. It’s obvious. 

The old them wouldn’t have been caught _dead_ helping the Underground, wouldn’t have even thought about giving up the fight. But that’s just it. That old version of themself is dead.

And they’re still trying to figure out who the new them _is_. 

“Okay.”

Poison opens their mouth and quickly closes it, shocked. 

“Okay?”

“Yeah,” Kobra says. “It’s _your_ jacket, your past. And I- I can’t really blame you for moving on past it.”

Poison finally smiles and they can feel it spreading through them and chasing away the doubt that’d buried itself in their chest. It doesn’t make this easier, exactly, but it’s reassuring to know that their brother gets it.

_________________________

Tommy’s shop looks exactly as Kobra had remembered it.

Cluttered and small, but somehow one of the most organized places out here. 

It’s unnerving going from the diner, filled to the brim with any random piece of junk one of them took a liking to, to here, where everything is carefully organized in bins. 

Kobra sweeps his eyes around as he and Poison walk to the counter. The aisle they pass through has different shaped wooden bins and boxes, filled with things like nail clippers and can openers. It’s been a long time since he’s been in here but Korba knows the next aisle to their left has canned food and the one to their right holds things like medkits and homemade soap.

Anything that Tommy doesn’t carry in stock, can usually be requested- for a fee, of course. 

When Kobra first got out here, first met the strange guy who runs this shop, he instantly hated him. He was too much like those creepy, dead-eyed clerks at the stores in the City. 

Now though, he wouldn’t say he exactly _likes_ Tommy but he knows that he tries to help out anyone who needs it. 

He’s often looked the other way when their crew was starving and Poison tried to haggle their last carbon for a can of PowerPup while Ghoul was an aisle over, hurriedly shoving cans into his jacket. 

Tommy isn’t a _nice_ man, but he isn’t heartless. 

Kobra just hopes he’s in a _good_ mood as he and Poison stop to stand in front of the counter. The quick, scrawled list of supplies they need is burning a hole in his pocket. They don’t exactly have the money for what they need and, while he doesn’t regret spending what they did have to get the Youngbloods situated, he is growing concerned that Tommy won’t accept their trade.

Sure, Poison is- _was_? He’s not sure after their conversation in the car- But, the _point_ is, their crew is one, if not the most, well known in the desert. They have the biggest bounty on their heads and it’s going to probably triple the second the City finds out they’re still alive.

But that _doesn’t_ mean Poison’s jacket is going to hold any value. It’s just an old scrap of leather and dust. 

Before either of them can ring the bell on the counter, there’s a rustle from the back. A moment later, Tommy comes out of the doorway with a stack of boxes in his arms. He sets them down heavily on the counter and huffs.

He turns to them, the bored expression he was wearing quickly changing to one of suspicion. 

“I told you not to come back in here,” Tommy says lowly.

Poison tilts their head. “No, you didn’t?”

Kobra doesn’t remember being banned from here, either. _Ghoul_ , maybe. 

He _had_ ‘accidentally’ broken a whole shelf of items when a spider fell from the ceiling right onto his face.

But that was like- _years_ ago. 

Tommy reaches on hand underneath the counter and Kobra takes a step back. The blaster that he keeps under the counter has only been used once that Kobra knows of. And that was to ward off an Exterminator who thought he couldbuy information off of Tommy.

Poison doesn’t step back but they do raise their hands in submission. 

“Tommy, dude-”

“I told you the last time your crew was in here that you’re not _welcome_ here. Val, if you don’t walk out the door _right now_ -”

“Wait-” Poison interrupts, voice pitching ever so slightly. “Wait. I’m not Val.”

Tommy squints but doesn’t take his hand out from underneath the counter. He glances briefly over to Kobra, his eyes boring into him. 

“Prove it.”

Poison slowly lowers one of their hands and removes the jacket from their arm. They set it on the counter just as slowly.

Tommy seems to balk at it, caught between confused and surprised. He looks back to Poison sharply.

“How did you get that?”

“It’s mine.”

That was the wrong answer it seems. Tommy’s face hardens.

“ _No,_ it’s not. The person who owned this jacket is _dead_.”

“Tommy,” Poison says, one hand reaching up to pull down the bandanna covering most of their face. “It’s me.”

Instantly, Tommy’s eyes go wide. Kobra knows that he’s taking in the fresh scar that takes up so much space on Poison’s neck. 

A few expressions pass over Tommy’s face, too fast for Kobra to read, and then he’s huffing out a sharp laugh.

“Fuck! I should’a known the City couldn’t keep you dead, kid.”

Tommy’s hand comes out from underneath the counter and Kobra breathes a sigh of relief as he lowers his hands. Poison follows suit but they don’t pull their bandana back up. 

“Trust me,” Poison says coldly. “They tried.”

Kobra chooses not to mention how the City, specifically _Korse_ , tried very hard to keep them alive. He doesn’t think Poison wants that information getting out. 

“ ‘s it just th’ two of you now?”

Tommy sounds hesitant and,if Kobra didn’t know any better, almost as if he was concerned. 

“No,” Kobra answers. “We all made it.”

The relief is visible on Tommy’s face but he schools it back to nothing but mild interest quickly.

“So, I assume then that you’re here to haggle me down on my prices like usual?”

There’s a lack of the usual bite those words usually have and Kobra finds himself relaxing further as he digs the list out of his pocket.

“We need this stuff but we were hopin’ you’d let us trade for ‘em.”

Tommy takes the list and scans it a few times. 

“Sure. Got it all in stock. What’re you trading?”

When neither Poison or himself sets anything else on the counter, Tommy’s eyes dart to the jacket still resting there. 

“This?” he asks, incredulously. “But its-”

“It’s for _trade_.”

Poison’s voice leaves no room for argument. Tommy simply nods and, without another word slips into the back room.

He returns quickly, their usual supplies stuck in a large wooden box. They usually get what they can from the Market but there’s just some things that are cheaper and easier to get from Tommy. It’s strange to think that he still had their order ready. It’s been _weeks_.

“The jacket covers this and then some,” Tommy says as he sets the box down beside the stack of others. “Do you need anything else?”

_______________________________________

Kobra pops a piece of candy into his mouth as he slides into the car. Poison slips into the driver’s seat a moment later, already sucking on a candy of their own. 

There’s a whole container of the stuff in Kobra’s lap and he can already see the look on the Girl’s face when they show her. He’s excited to see the surprise she and Ghoul will undoubtedly have. They’ve all gotten used to the Underground’s food and even Kobra has found himself missing it. 

The sun begins to set as they head home, painting everything in a thick sort of orange haze. The car is quiet but it’s not the same sort of silence as the ride over.

Kobra doesn’t really understand his sibling’s _need_ to sell their jacket but he doesn’t have to. The… weight that’s been almost _visibly_ sitting on their shoulders has lifted. They’re tapping their fingers on the steering wheel even though the radio isn’t on. 

They told him that they’re different now, a different person and, at first, he couldn’t see it. They were still just _Poison_ , his annoying, overbearing, older sibling. But _now_ , he can kinda see it.

How they’re just. _More_.

More themself, maybe, more open. 

There was a reason they never told Kobra about what happened before they escaped and he doesn’t blame them for keeping it a secret. But he knows that things are different now. There’s no more secrets. 

They’re going to have to talk about Val soon. It seems that he’s been making a name for himself, wearing Poison’s colors while doing so. But that’s for later. 

He smiles around the sweet candy in his mouth and watches the sun set over the desert. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ah i'm sorry for all the bitter-sweet this chapter!   
> next couple of chapters are gonna be with the Youngbloods!  
> Thank you all for reading and, if you want, feel free to leave a comment telling me what you think <3


	13. I Think You're My Best Friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNINGS:  
> *I don't think they're any in this one but let me know if there's anything you need to be tagged!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good Evening everyone!  
> I had planned on updating this every week but I ended up focusing on another project, and that's why this one's a bit late. Sorry about that! But yeah, a very big thank you to @i-burn-bright for her amazing beta-ing and support!   
> I hope that you all enjoy!

The new day brings the first semi-normal morning Sandman has had in almost a week. 

The quiet of the past few days has been broken by something that could nearly be called a meeting.

It’s not quite like the meetings he’s used to. For one, he’s hosting it while propped up against the wall because his body refuses to cooperate with him for any length of time. Add in the fact that they’re not discussing the latest run or construction project and are instead trying to figure out a way for them to survive here until they can meet up with the rest of the Underground and- well let’s just say he is a bit in over his head. 

“The patrols have continued to only appear at night,” Phantom explains, hugging one knee to his chest as he sits on the floor. “So, we will have to travel during the day if we want to reach the safehouse without running into trouble.”

There’s not much for Sandman to really add to anything that’s being said. The guys are making good points. It’s going to take time for them to be ready to make this trip and, when they do, they’re going to have to do it during the hottest part of the day.

It’s not ideal. Especially considering the fact that Sandman is the main reason for their delay in meeting up with the others. 

“That shouldn't be too hard,” He ventures, phrasing it more like a question. “Killjoys go out during the day all the time, right?”

“Yeah but they’re used to it. We’re not.”

He knows Stakes is right but that doesn’t mean he likes it.

“Well, by the time we leave, we’ll probably be used to it.”

Even as he says that, Sandman has to take a swing of his water because it’s mid-day and the temperatures have made the air feel like they’re inside of an oven. 

“The car has air conditioning,” Phantom ventures.

He looks just as uncomfortably hot as Sandman feels and it offers him a little satisfaction to know he’s not the only one miserable right now. 

“True,” Benz says, already stripped down to just an old t-shirt.

It’s as casual as Sandman’s seen him in a while and, even though he knows that he shouldn’t think about this sort of thing, it reminds him of the many nights they shared midnight snacks in their pajamas because sleep refused to come. 

He can hear Benz’s laugh as he would recount something that had happened earlier in the day. He can see the way the two of them would end up in a pile of blankets in one of their beds, first sharing events of the day before their conversations turned to those weird, insomnia fueled thoughts that you can only half-remember in the morning. 

The memory leaves a bitter-sweet taste in his mouth. Benz may not be actively shouting at him anymore but Sandman isn’t stupid enough to delude himself into thinking that they’re okay again. 

He can see it in the way Benz only looks at him sideways, out of the corner of his eye like he’s uncomfortable. Or afraid. 

And Sandman isn’t really doing anything to help this. He’s just looking away every time Benz’s gaze turns to him, answering in short replies. Pretending to be asleep so none of his crewmates could try and talk to him earlier.

He also isn’t naive enough to believe the way he’s skirting around the actual problem is somehow going to make it go away. Eventually, he’s going to have to make things right. 

But maybe that’s the problem. He doesn't know _how_. 

What can change what he’s said? What he’s done.

“Maybe you guys should go ahead.”

Everyone turns to look at him and he feels himself shrinking down to try and get away from the intensity of it.

Benz scoffs aloud. “And _what_? Leave you here?”

“Yeah,” He says, hating how quiet his voice has gone. 

“ _Sandman_ -”

To his surprise, Phantom puts a hand on Benz’s shoulder, stopping him mid-scold. 

“We’re not leaving you here,” Phantom says seriously, eyes narrowed. “You’re in no shape to take care of yourself.”

Sandman knows that he is referring to the barely healed blaster hole in his gut. But, more than that, he knows that there’s never been a time when he’s been able to take care of himself. He’s always done shit like this. 

A long forgotten voice, stern and cold, filters to the front of his mind for a fraction of a second. 

_You’re going to end up dead one day and it’s going to be your **own fault** , son. _

Great. He gets shot once and now he’s hearing fucking voices. He wishes he could say that this is the first time. 

“We have to stick together,” Stakes adds, sounding more like himself than he has in days. 

Even if things still aren’t… great, maybe they are getting better?

Aside from Benz, the others aren’t treating him like he's about to go off on them for opening their mouths. And, so long as he doesn’t think about it any more than he has to, that’s okay. 

“Fine,” He relents as inconspicuous as possible, wrapping an arm around his middle.

He drags himself up using the wall as support. It leaves him panting and dizzy, but it’s better than being stuck on the floor so he fights through it and pushes off the wall. He makes it one, two steps before his knees buckle and everything tilts.

Sandman’s saved from hitting the ground by Phantom. He barely registers being lifted off his feet and held against his chest before being laid down again in his make-shift bed. 

He can hear his heartbeat humming in his ears and it takes too-long for him to be able to open his eyes again. _Fuck_. 

He had thought he was past this, being too weak to do even the smallest of things. 

But Benz is glaring angrily down at him as he double checks the bandages and the other two are standing over him, watching with their arms crossed. 

Benz sits back and pulls Sandman’s shirt down. He looks more pissed than he did earlier. 

“Sandman,” He begins, his voice brimming with a false calm. “What were you doing?”

Sandman glances in Phantom’s direction for help but his face is set with the same scolding expression as Benz’s.

“It’s my turn for a watch. I- if we’re going to get out of here, you guys can’t be sleep deprived from taking every watch.”

Benz blinks very slowly and Sandman prepares himself for the shouting to begin again. Even _if_ Sandman is right and the others do look like they could use some rest.

When’s the last time any of them have slept properly?

They can’t go on like this for much longer, barely sleeping, hardly talking to each other. Something’s got to give before they all blow up and they get into another argument again. 

He isn’t sure if they’ll survive another fight like that. _He_ might not survive another. 

To Sandman’s surprise however, Benz takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. 

He’s left laying there, partially in shock from not being yelled at and at the same time terrified because this might just be Benz gearing up for the chewing out of a lifetime. Sandman knows that he deserves it. 

“You can start taking watches again once you’ve recovered some more,” Benz says slowly, opening his eyes halfway through. “We can make due with a three person rotating watch in the meantime. I don’t think we’re under any immediate danger.”

Beside him, Stakes laughs. “You can wipe the surprise off of your face, Sandy. We’re not gonna kill you. This time.”

Sandman tries to get his mouth to close, only to end up stuttering as he tries to wrap his head around the fact that he’s _not_ making his crew fight again. These past few days have been the most turbulent he’s ever seen them. Usually fights are resolved quickly, often with the help of the people fighting being locked in a room together to work it out or- on the occasions where him and Benz act like toddlers- the Get Along Shirt is brought out. 

But it’s never like this. With none of them talking about _any_ of it and him continuing to push every button he can find- intentionally or not.

“I- what?”

Phantom saves him from another stuttering answer. He laughs, a gentle sound that feels out of place.

“Look. The three of us talked. Firstly, we’re not going to throttle you until you’re better. And two, we’ve agreed that we need to all talk this out. No more fighting over small stuff. Either we’re talking about what’s actually wrong, or we’re not arguing at all.”

“I- I don’t-?”

“Do you _want_ us to yell at you?” Benz demands, almost sounding concerned. 

“No. But- I- I keep fucking this up. You _should_ be.”

Phantom frowns and leans forward a little. “What do you mean?”

“Well I- I’m th’ one who started all of this. I lied and then I took everything out on you guys. Usually this is where you shout at me.”

His admission has the opposite effect than what he was expecting. Not that he really knew what to expect. But the other three just- they don’t argue and insist it wasn’t his fault. But they also don’t tell him that it _was_. They’re just sitting there, _looking_ at him. 

“Okay,” Stakes starts, running a hand through his hair before he continues. “Can you tell us why, then? Why you acted like you did?”

Oh. They’re doing the talking thing _now_. They are basically locked in this room together. It’s not like Sandman could walk away right now, even if he wanted to. (Which he doesn’t)

“I had a feeling that something was wrong.” He admits. “A few days after Jet and Kobra’s run to get the Girl, I started noticing that our teams were having a suspicious amount of luck. Doors that should have been locked where open. And only the ones that we had planned for them to use. Guards were conveniently not around while they worked. It was like…”

“Like the City knew we were there,” Benz finishes for him. “Like they were letting us think we had control?”

“Exactly.”

“Well,” Stakes says uncertainty, flashing a glance to Phantom and only continuing once he nods. “Actually we’ve been meaning to tell you that the Four have a sort of idea about why that might have happened.”

“They think that someone sold us out.”

The bluntness to Benz’s words feels like ice water being thrown over Sandman’s head. Surely, _surely_ they don’t think he still believes Benz would do something like this?

“I-” His voice breaks and he has to clear his throat before he’s able to continue. “Is there any idea who?”

“No,” admits Stakes. “But there’s a good chance whoever it is is still hiding out among us.”

Sandman’s heart stops. 

The traitor could be planning something else, staying low until they can destroy the Underground for good. 

Even though the physical Underground is gone, which is a thought that sends a sharp ache through him just from thinking about it, the people who made it up are still very much alive. But, if there’s someone on the inside who’s working for the City then… then there’s no _telling_ how many people could be killed. Or worse, be sent back to the City to be wiped.

“We need to get back,” Sandman announces desperately, already moving to sit up.

He’s stopped by Phantom pushing his shoulders back down and he really hates how easy it is for him to do so.

“Yes,” Phantom tells him, keeping his hand on Sandman’s shoulder. “We are going to go back. But not until you’re strong enough for the trip. If we go now, there’s no guarantee you’ll make it. They need us, yes, but they need _all_ of us, Sandy.”

Fuck.

Sandman _hates_ when Phantom is right.

“Fine,” He mumbles, laying back down completely but crossing his arms over his chest like a child.

“It’s just for a few weeks at most. If you take it _easy_ ,” Benz glares at him. “Then the faster we’ll get to leave this shitty shed. Okay?”

“Okay.”

Benz smiles, a real, genuine relaxation that makes Sandman feel even guiltier.

“I’m sorry,” He adds. “For all of it.”

Benz’s expression doesn’t drop, exactly, but he can’t hide the hurt that flashes across for a split second. 

“You can make it up to us by getting some sleep.”

Before, Sandman would roll his eyes. He got his name for a reason. Sleep isn’t… it isn’t something that’s ever truly come _easily_ to him. His head goes too fast, too loud, for him to shut it down long enough to rest.

But, by some luck, he does feel tired enough to sleep and even he can admit that it’s probably from pushing himself so much today. The guys are right; he really isn’t in any shape to go anywhere right now. But soon, the _second_ he gets his strength back, he’s _going_ to find that traitor and he’s going to make them wish they never set foot in his home.

___________________________________

Benz is too focused on re-organizing the med kit for the fifth time today to notice when Sandman wakes from his nap. He’s startled out of his thoughts by the sound of Sandman pushing himself upright. 

By the time he’s across the room to help him up, he’s already done. Though, it’s clear how much the effort took out of Sandman just from how hard he’s breathing. But Benz can’t help the small feeling of pride that rises from seeing him one step closer to his old self. And it’s strange, realizing that he does in fact still care about Sandman. Even _if_ he is incredibly pissed at him, he doesn’t like seeing him injured or in pain. He’s not quite sure if Sandman feels the same way though. At times, it’s almost as if he’s the one who hasn’t stopped caring and Sandman is the one who _has_.

He can’t tell if the way Sandman is looking at him lately is regret for their fight or mourning a friendship lost. Benz tries not to think about it too much, to get caught up on how he’s unable to keep himself from hovering over Sandman regardless. 

He’s the one that came back, who was too frightened of losing his best friend to think clearly. And that’s true even now. 

“What’re you looking at?” Sandman asks, voice rough and soft. 

It doesn’t sound accusational, more… just curious. 

“You,” He answers honestly. “Making sure you’re okay.”

The second half of that isn’t exactly the truth. But it’s close enough.

Because even though Benz should hate Sandman for what he’s said, what he’s done to push him away, he can’t. He worries. He _cares_ too much for his own good. 

And, _fuck him_ , Sandman gives him this little lopsided smile that makes Benz’s heart constrict. But in a _good way_. 

“I’m fine,” Sandman assures him, still wearing that damn look on his face. “I feel a lot better, really.”

Benz, for lack of anything else to do, fiddles with his shirt and tries to figure out what the hell he’s supposed to say right now. What’s the protocol for when you have a friendship rocking fight with someone you’ve known for decades and then neither of you are able to talk about it properly afterwards? 

That’s the problem. He’s never been in a situation like this before. Sure, he’s shouted at Sandman more times than he can count. He’s certain every grey hair that he has is because of this bastard. But all those other times were mainly because he did something incredibly stupid and gave him a damn heart attack. And, in those times, the only way Benz could keep from completely freaking out was to yell at him for being so careless.

That won’t work now. Benz is too exhausted to yell this time. He’s not _mad_ at Sandman anymore- if he ever really was in the first place. No… he’s just, well he’s just more hurt than anything. 

“I’m glad,” Benz manages. “You had me worried.”

Fuck he hadn’t meant for that to come out.

The lopsided smile Sandman’s wearing turns into something even more familiar, a sad little tilt of his head that he does when he’s realizing the consequences of his actions. Benz has seen it too-many times over the years. It happened after every reckless plan and dark night that led to an intervention.

“Im sorry,” Sandman says softly, sounding more sincere than before. “I- I never really intended to hurt you.”

He’s looking away now but, before Benz can say anything else, the door opens and Phantom and Stakes walk in. They nod towards the two of them but don’t pause their conversion, speaking loud enough for Benz to hear them clearly.

“Can’t you just leave it _alone_ ,” Stakes whines as he sets down a box. “It doesn’t matter.”

Phantom is unpacking a box of his own, one of the ones the Four brought back for them.

“No, I can’t. Because you know damn well that you like them. They clearly like you too. So what’s stopping you from asking them out when we get to the safehouse?”

Even from across the room, Benz can see Stakes go red. 

“Because I can’t. Fuck, Phantom, you _know_ that I can’t.” 

Stakes’ voice breaks there at the end and Benz realizes that he’s not blushing from embarrassment. He’s afraid. 

“Stakes,” Phantom sets what was in his hands down and walks over to him. “We won’t let anything like that happen again.”

“You can’t _promise_ something like that.”

Benz can’t stand the pain so heavy in Stake’s voice, as if he’s just waiting for another tragedy. 

“Yes, we can,” He insists. “You’re safer out here than we ever were in the City. They won’t find us again. We won’t let them. _I_ won’t let them.”

Benz can’t change the past, can’t bring back what Stakes lost or fix the years he spent pushing them away because he was terrified of it happening again. He can’t blame Stakes for any of that. Or for being so afraid now. 

But, the only thing that he really can do, is make sure that he knows Benz would rather _die_ than let the City take anything else from his friends. They’ve all lost so much, too much. 

Stakes looks shocked for a few long seconds, somewhere between terrified and grateful, before he’s smiling and relaxing just a bit.

“I know,” He says under his breath. “But I don’t want to be the reason they get hurt.”

“You won’t be,” Sandman speaks up seriously. “You won’t hurt them because you’ve never hurt anyone in your life who you care about. Nothing that happened was your fault and we won’t let the City fuck us over again.”

They all stand there, shocked for a moment from the sincerity in Sandman’s voice. 

_This_ Sandman, this is the fiery kid that Benz met all those years ago. The one who will fight until his last breath for those he cares about. The asshole that is at least half the reason Benz is even alive right now.

He has to say, he’s missed him. 

Stakes chokes on a laugh. “So what, you guys are gonna set me up on an old timey date with Hazel? Like, full on wine and candles?”

“If that’s what you want,” Benz jokes, earning an eye roll from everyone in the room. “But seriously, if you care about them like I know you do, go for it. Don’t wait until it’s too late.”

Stakes nods, looking more shocked than anything else. Or- maybe pleasantly overwhelmed is a better way of putting it. 

Either way, the four of them fall into a comfortable quiet. Benz stays beside Sandman, pretending he doesn’t notice him scribbling away in his notebook. 

It was one of the only personal belongings they were able to get out of the Underground before it was destroyed. There’s not much that Benz wishes he’d been able to keep. Only a few gifts the children had given him over the years, some of them now as old as the Four. 

He did manage to get lucky and have his wallet on him. It’s not like he really uses it anymore. His Better Living issued identification card is worthless, a dead-faced younger version of himself staring into the camera isn’t exactly useful anymore and it’s not like he carries money. But, he does have a few small things tucked inside the old leather for safe keeping. 

He pulls the wallet out of his pocket, running his hand along the smooth outside before opening it. Inside, he retrieves the carefully folded pictures from the cash compartment.

A picture of himself and Sandman, taken nearly 15 years ago, as they sit together at a table in the cafeteria, laughing and unaware of the picture being taken. 

Another is of Stakes and Phantom fast asleep in Stakes’ room after a particularly long run. 

There’s a few of Phantom, taken when he wasn’t looking while at his now famous babysitting adventures. One of the parents had asked him to watch their daughter while they both were assigned on a run and he had done so gladly. Seeing him sitting there, deep in conversation with a five-year-old brings a smile to Benz’s face. 

It hurts to think about how much they’ve lost when the Underground was destroyed. Decades of their lives just… gone in an instant. Benz knows that he should be grateful that no-one was lost but… he also can’t help mourning the lives they’d built there. 

From the little squeak his desk chair would make every time he sat down in it from years of use, to the scar on his hand that he got when Sandman accidentally stabbed him with his fork. 

“Hey, I remember that!”

Sandman reaches over, nearly hiding the wince the action brings, and points to a photo of the two of them. 

It’d been taken six years ago, after Sandman had accidentally given Benz a really nasty case of the flu. Really, the majority of the Underground had it and Benz had managed to stave it off until he was treating Sandman and ended up falling asleep beside him in bed. He’d woken the next morning feeling like shit and, after being forced to rest, had grumpily agreed to do so only if he got to stay in Sandman’s room. The picture shows both of them, noses raw and cheeks red with fever, tucked into bed and glaring at the camera. 

“I can’t believe you got me sick,” Benz retorts, rolling his eyes. 

“Hey! It’s not my fault you passed out in _my_ room.”

“Yes it is! I wouldn’t have if you had just let me take your temperature!”

Sandman honks out a laugh and shakes his head.

“From what I remember,” Phantom calls across the room. “You _both_ are insufferable when you’re sick.”

“Hey!” Both he and Sandman shout at the same time. 

And then everyone’s joining in, shouting out embarrassing things they’ve all done. 

Benz hasn’t laughed this much in ages and by the time they’ve all laughed until they’re sore, he’s leaning against Sandman, giggling as Phantom grumbles about how he is _not_ afraid of spiders.

His ribs hurt from laughing for so long and his face feels frozen in a constant smile, but it’s not something he can bring himself to be upset over. He’s missed moments like this, really.

Sandman shifts and through their touching shoulders, Benz feels him tense up even before he’s hissing. 

“You okay?”

Sandman nods, eyes squeezed shut and an arm wrapped around his stomach protectively. 

“Fine,” He manages.

“C’mon, you should lay back down.”

He doesn’t fight as Benz helps him lay flat and wordlessly takes the drink he had prepared earlier. Sandman is pale again as he tries to even out his breathing, his hand now resting over the bandages under his shirt. 

For Sandman not to be refusing his worrying, means that he must be either too exhausted or in a good amount of pain. Probably both. 

“I’m fine,” Sandman assures him, cracking his eyes open. “Just had to catch my breath.”

“Sorry…”

He frowns at Benz and, to his surprise, seems to come to a conclusion.

“You’ve got nothing to be sorry for, Benz. I- I’m the one that fucked up. I should’a said this sooner but I- I’m sorry. For everything I’ve put you through lately. You didn’t deserve it and- and I’m not gonna pretend that I understand why you came back or why you’re helping me now, but I’m glad you’re here. You’re my best friend.”

“And you’re mine,” Benz whispers, fighting off the stubborn stinging in his eyes. “Partners in crime?”

He reaches out his fist for Sandman to bump with his own, one of the first things they did when they became friends. 

Sandman’s smile has returned and wobbles- in a happy sort of way- as he lifts his arm to fist bump him. 

“Partners in crime. Always.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me just tell you, I Loved writing this chapter. Sandman and Benz are some of my favorite characters I think now. LIke, i love the Four endlessly, but these two just hold a special place in my heart now.   
> Also, if you are enjoying reading about the Youngbloods as much as I am writing them, then I've started a little side series of one-shots about their lives before the events of this fic! It's the next fic in this series and the second I figure out how to put an actual link in this box then I'll link it haha. But yeah, feel free to check it out because I'm having a blast writing it!  
> Thank you all for reading and, if you like, leave a comment letting me know your thoughts!


	14. I'd Rather Go to Hell than be in Purgatory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING:  
> *unnamed character death (it's a Drac)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone!  
> I hope you're all having a good week and staying safe in the midst of all this crazy weather that's been hitting lately!   
> This chapter was originally going to go in a whole different direction but we decided that this way was better and scrapped the old plotline. Hopefully this will go well haha.   
> A huge thank you to @i-burn-bright for being my amazing beta and coauthor, and for dealing with all my shitty grammar and random ideas!  
> Alright, I hope you all enjoy!

The radio plays quietly on the floor beside Stakes. He doesn’t recognize the song that’s playing, or even the artist, but it’s music and it beats sitting there in silence. 

The sun went down a few hours ago, taking with it the nearly unbearable heat and light. But the lantern gives him enough light so he can mess around with the parts in his hands.

Stakes didn’t even realize they had brought the parts with them until he just happened to find them in the trunk of the car. But he’s not complaining. It’s something to do. Something to keep his mind off the Underground, off Sandman. And, most importantly, off of Hazel. 

It hasn’t been dark for long but Stakes finds himself yawning anyway, a big one that makes his eyes water. He scrubs his sleeve over his face and glances over in Benz’s direction.

The doctor is asleep, catching a few, much needed hours before it’s his turn for a watch again. Phantom should be coming back any minute to switch with Benz now that the sun’s down but Stakes takes one look at how deeply his friend is sleeping and makes his choice. Benz has, arguably, had it the roughest out here. Excluding Sandman. It’d do him good to get a few extra hours and it’s not like Stakes is tired enough to sleep right now anyway. If he was, he’d have been out hours ago. 

Just like he’d thought, Phantom comes trudging inside just a few minutes later. His steps are slow and dragging. It makes Stakes’ decision all the easier. 

The others have been going a little easy on him ‘cause of his leg but taking watch here is just sitting in one place for four hours , so it shouldn’t be that bad. 

He stands up as Phantom starts to lean over to shake Benz awake.

“I’ll take this one,” He whispers as loudly as he dares. 

Phantom frowns but glances back down to Benz, seemingly coming to the same realization as he did. 

“Okay. Wake him up when yours is over. I’m gonna crash.”

Stakes nods and begins zipping up his jacket to fight off the worst of the cold. He also grabs a nearby blanket, just to be safe, and pats his hip to make sure his gun is there. 

But he doesn’t really think he’ll need it. 

Things have been quiet out here, at least where they are. These watches are just a precaution, just in case something goes wrong. Because no one knows their exact location other than the Four and their friend Cherri. And that, honestly, just makes Stakes feel more secure. 

He watches Phantom curl up near Benz from over his shoulder as he pulls open the door. He’s hit with chilly, almost frigid air and has to wrap the blanket tighter over his shoulders after he’s shut the door. 

Stakes takes a moment to scan the open desert in front of him. 

Truthfully, there’s not much to look at. Some outlines of trees in the distance, a hazy sort of glow in the direction of the City, and a shimmery black line that he now knows to be Route Guano. 

He remembers learning in school about how pavement can hold heat but he’d never really seen the concept in real life until now. Even in the dark, the road radiates heat. Stakes wonders if it’d be a good idea to find a large rock and let it sit in the sun during the day so they could set it inside at night. It might help to keep them warm.

He saves the thought for later, while still watching his feet in case any appropriately sized rocks end up in his path, and makes a lap around the building. It doesn't take very long at all, maybe a minute at most. But he feels more comfortable sitting down by the doorway after he knows for certain that there’s no immediate threat

For a moment, Stakes debates going back inside to grab the radio. So he doesn’t have to hear the screaming of who knows how many insects in the sand around him. But he quickly thinks better of it. The sound might attract unwanted guests. 

So, as it is, Stakes burrows a little more into his blanket and fixes his eyes on the dark desert in front of him.

__________________________________________

At first, Benz isn’t sure what woke him. 

He’s not too hot like he would be if he slept into the morning. But he’s not cold either like he is when Sandman steals all of his blankets. 

He is just about to roll over and try to go back to sleep when he hears the door creak open. Years of paranoia makes him hold completely still as he listens to the sound of footsteps entering the building. It’s not anyone in his crew, he knows that for certain.

Heart racing but mind carefully calm, Benz listens closely as the intruder steps further inside. Whoever it is, has heavy boots and their clothes are either too-small or well ironed. It’s someone- some _thing_ from the City. 

Benz doesn’t dare make a sound as he slowly shifts the arm he’s laying on towards his belt. His gun was, thankfully, on him when he fell asleep. But, even as he wraps his hand around the grip, he struggles to figure out how to do this without having the person open fire the second he moves.

But then there’s the click of a radio and a too cheery voice whispering that they’ve found rebels. Benz is already standing by the time he hears the click of the safety switch in the Drac’s gun. He fires right as it does.

It wasn’t aiming at him. Benz watches the Drac drop as Stakes rushes in through the open door. His gun is out but there’s no need, the thing is dead.

Benz’s heart is still racing as he directs his eyes at the pile of blankets that the Drac was pointing at. For a second, he fears the worst, but thankfully, there’s a very obvious blaster scorch on the floor.

Phantom sits up, eyes wide. Benz knows that now is a good time for him to say _something_ but he just can’t seem to get his words to work.

As he stumbles back down, head dizzy with the realization that he just _killed_ someone, Sandman is sitting up as well. He takes one look at the Drac and then spots the darkened burn on the floor a few inches from where he was sleeping. He stays quiet.

“Fuck,” Stakes swears under his breath. “I- I didn’t even _realize_ I nodded off and- and I-”

“Stop that.”

Stakes stops mid sentence, closing his mouth slowly even though he’s definitely continuing to panic. Phantom stands up, kicking the Drac once to make sure it’s really dead, before coming over and placing his hands on Stakes’ shoulders.

“It’s alright. You’re exhausted. We all are.”

Benz doesn’t catch Stakes’ answer because, somehow, Sandman has come over without him even noticing. He sits practically in Benz’s lap, wrapping his arms around him and staving off the shakes that were taking him over.

“Breathe Benz. It’s over. We’re safe.”

He will never admit to the fact that Sandman starts to rock him, just barely, just enough to sort of break up the swirling static in his head. He breathes and is able to return Sandman’s embrace. But he keeps talking quietly, even as their grip on each other lightens and Benz stops shaking almost entirely. 

“I’m okay,” He says, the smile audible in his voice even if Benz can’t see it. “You did the right thing.”

Maybe that’s the point, Benz thinks. 

Everything in him is screaming that he just _killed_ someone. Maybe even someone he used to know. A friend. Someone who didn’t get a choice in becoming the Drac now lying dead a few feet from him.

It goes against everything he’s ever believed, hurting someone else. But, at the very same time, his friends were in danger and that part of his brain- the part that would rather die than see any of them hurt- overrode everything else.

He wants to hate himself for this, the doctor in him disgusted that he has killed someone, but there’s just too much relief in the knowledge that his friends are safe for him to really care. For the first time in his life, he doesn’t let that angry, hateful part of his brain tell him that he should be ashamed of this.

It’s nearly an hour later that he’s able to look up though, to take in the scene around him without fearing breaking down again. 

The Drac has been dragged outside and there's a small pool of dark blood where it had laid on the floor. Stakes is on Sandman’s other side, looking shocked but unharmed. Phantom’s standing by the open door, his gun out like he’s waiting for another Drac to appear out of nowhere. “Where did it come from?” He finds himself asking.

Stakes catches his eyes and shrugs. 

“Dunno. Last I remember there wasn’t anything for miles.”

“Do you think there’s more?”

He aims this question at Phantom.

“Probably. We’re not near a really busy part of Guano but I’m sure Dracs still find their way out here often enough. Once this one doesn’t radio back in, there’s a good chance they’ll send more.”

Benz’s heart sinks. 

“It was talking on the radio when-” He has to swallow hard. “When it came inside.” Phantom nods once and turns his head back to the darkness beyond the doorway.

“Then there’s almost no chance we can’t expect more company tonight.”

Stakes curses under his breath but it’s Sandman who speaks up.

“We should leave then,” He says urgently. “If we stay here, just waiting for them to find us, they’ll easily be able to send reinforcements and pin us here.”

Benz hates it but Sandman’s right. 

Phantom turns back to them, clearly torn.

“I- I don’t know. Sandman you-”

“I’m better,” Sandman interrupts, not unkindly. “I’m not a hundred percent yet, I know, but I think I can handle sitting in a car for a few hours. If we stay it’s just gonna be a firefight. But if we leave now we may not have that risk.”

Phantom sighs and looks to Benz and Stakes.

“I agree,” Benz says. “I don’t like it but Sandman does have a point.”

“And you’re sure he can make the trip? Just yesterday-”

“It’s not the best case scenario but it won’t be the worst either. I’d rather him be in a car than in a firefight.”

This earns him a tired nod of agreement and a gentle nudge from Sandman. 

“Yeah, I think it’s a good plan too,” Stakes speaks up. “We need to meet up with the others anyway. Our schedule just got moved a little is all.”

It’s decided then, and the next part of an hour is spent quickly packing their things. Sandman is helped to the car first, leaning heavily on Phantom but, still, it’s good to see him moving under his own steam. 

They didn’t exactly bring much with them and while the Four did help them get plenty of supplies, they’ve already made a pretty big dent in what they have. Packing it all into the car isn’t as hard as it first looked and soon, Phantom is cranking the car and they’re leaving their temporary home behind.

Benz opts to stay in the back. Partially to avoid having to talk to Phantom and Stakes right now, but also so that he can keep an eye on Sandman. 

“Will you stop looking at me like that,” Sandman grumbles, meaning Benz clearly wasn’t as subtle as he thought he was being. 

“How’re you feeling?”

Sandman rolls his eyes but leans a little closer to him. 

“Honestly?” He smirks, though he remains sincere. “I’m tired and I didn’t realize getting to the car was gonna hurt this much.”

Benz hums as he reaches into the bag in his lap and produces some painkillers. It makes sense that Sandman’s sore, really. In ideal circumstances, he’d be on bedrest until Benz was one hundred percent certain that he was healed. But that’s not something that’s possible out here. And he knows that, even if he doesn’t like it. 

“These are just ibuprofen,” He says. “If you want them.”

Sandman eyes the pills for a second but holds out his hand anyway. It’s a sign that he’s in more pain than he’s letting on. Benz’s known him too long to not be able to recognize his tells.

Benz hands the pills over and passes some water next. Sandman relaxes back against the seat after, already close to falling asleep. He would be worried about him, such a stress on his body so soon after everything it was put through can’t be easy on him. But, in all honesty, they’re lucky that the Drac showed up today. Benz is certain that any sooner and Sandman wouldn’t be handling this as well as he is.

The air conditioning isn’t enough to fight off all of the stifling heat but it is strong enough to get rid of the worst of it. Benz doesn’t quite allow himself to relax, not when there is a chance of being followed. His thoughts are continuing to be a swimming mess, replaying the moment he pulled the trigger over and over. 

He hasn’t shot his gun for anything other than target practice in… well it’s been almost 20 years now. The thought alone makes him feel old. But, more than that, it makes him wonder why tonight was enough for him to bypass his block and just go with his gut. 

It’s been a long time coming, sure. He’d almost thought that… back in the Underground, that he’d finally be able to pull the trigger again. But he’d been wrong. He was too anxious- too terrified of what was happening. But tonight, he simply hadn’t had the time to overthink it.

All he knew was that there was a Drac and he needed to take it down before it hurt his friends. Sandman would never survive another shot so soon, even if they _were_ still in the Underground. And maybe that’s part of why he was able to react so quickly. Or maybe it was just because he knew that- what? He’d have to get over this eventually?

He’s well aware that whatever life he had in the Underground is gone now. The new base won’t be the same and chances are, surviving out here will be more difficult than it was before. So, he guesses that it’s probably good that he got over the worst of it now, rather than waiting until it was too late.

Benz doubts that this will make him able to shoot as… enthusiastically as some of the people he knows. He still feels sick just thinking about aiming his gun at another living thing, at being the person to hurt or kill them. But he also feels like there’s a bridge now, between the part of him that can put the lives of his friends above that of a Drac or C/R/O/W and the part that refuses to be the cause of anyone’s pain. 

He can feel Phantom’s eyes boring into him from the driver’s seat. But he doesn’t meet his stare. Benz isn’t even sure what he would say. Should he thank them? Apologize for taking so long to react? Both? 

“Benz,” Stakes says, turning around to face the back seat. “You good?”

“I think so.”

Stakes smiles. 

“Thanks for saving our asses back there.”

“You’re… welcome?” 

“Dude,” Phantom insists without taking his eyes off the road. “You did the right thing.”

Benz sighs but he can’t argue. They’ve both got a point. Who knows what would have happened if no one had woken up in time. 

“Yeah,” He admits. “I know.”

Stakes smiles wider, the worry he was surprisingly hiding, fading.

And once again, things aren’t perfect. Not even close. But even though Benz knows that he’s going to have to talk to Sandman when he wakes up, that that conversation _isn’t_ going to be easy, he’s okay with it. 

More than anything, he can’t wait to be back with the Underground. He misses them all and he’s run things for so long that it feels strange to not be in charge of his department right now. They’ve got a lot of work ahead of them but the tiny optimistic part inside of him says that maybe things will be okay soon. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for this one being a bit on the shorter side, it just sorta ended up that way. Next chapter will be back with the Four!  
> Thank you all for reading! if you want, leave a comment telling me what you think!   
> <3


	15. Not much a poet but a criminal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNINGS:  
> \- none that i can think of

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Evening everyone!  
> This chapter's a short one but I'm really excited for you guys to read it. Huge thank you to my amazing beta and co-author for all of her hard work going into this series!  
> I hope you all enjoy!

To their surprise, Jet finds themself flowing back into their old rhythm, their old life, easily. They’d thought it’d be hard going from the relaxing pace of the Underground right back to the full swing of things. But no, it’s as if they haven’t forgotten anything at all, not even the little details of their day to day life that might seem insignificant. 

They’ve been sleeping better too. It’s easy to drift off with the calming sounds of the desert just outside their room, knowing that their crew is sleeping just a few feet away. 

And yeah, trying to keep dog food down when they’ve gotten so used to real food is a pain. Kobra in particular is having a hard time with that. He gags with every bite and they have to try and stifle their laughter. It never works but that’s okay.

Things feel…. Good. It’s terrifying to say that, to put that kind of hope out there in the universe and risk it throwing its worst at them. But it is the truth. Jet feels happy, happier than they’ve been in a long time. 

They’ve truly missed this, missed their home. The Underground was nice and yeah, if Poison had decided that they were going to stay, Jet wouldn’t have argued. The Youngbloods’ base is nice- _was_ nice but it’s not home. It’s not the diner. Maybe it’s because Jet’s never lived in the City but they don’t think they could ever really be comfortable living anywhere but here. 

Jet slowly lifts their head. They’ve been resting it in their arms, leaning over a table while their crew settles in for the night. It’s been a quiet, peaceful sort of day. Though, their definition of peaceful may be off because it includes the fact that Poison’s currently throwing a fit because they’d left the cap off their bottle of bleach and it’s dried out. Kobra looks two seconds away from chucking something at their head and Ghoul’s laughing too much to be of any help at all. 

The Girl, for once the quiet one, is on the ground by Jet. She wanted to see how high she could stack some old boxes they found but, so far, she’s only been able to get it a few before it falls over. 

Poison huffs one last time and spins around on their heel before storming off to their room. Jet just rolls their eyes. They can buy more bleach and, besides, Poison literally _just_ dyed their hair. They can wait a week. It won’t kill them. 

Jet checks the time on their watch before standing and going over where the kid is playing. They crouch down and tap their watch.

“Hey kiddo, ‘s bedtime.”

“Noooooo,” She whines, throwing her head back and giving them big, pleading eyes.

“Nope. Sorry. It’s late.”

“But I wanna finish my tower!”

“You can finish it in the mornin’. C’mon.”

Jet opens their arms to let her latch on. Reluctantly, she sets down the box in her hand and climbs into their arms. 

“I'm not sleepy,” She says stubbornly, yawning not a second later.

“I know but you gotta at least lay down.”

“Can you do a story?” The Girl mumbles into their shoulder.

Jet just smiles as they carry her down the hall and uses their hip to move the curtain that acts as her door. The Girl is already half asleep by the time Jet gets her situated and settles down next to her to start the story.

But they easily flow into one about a little girl who finds a magic candy bar. It’s entirely made up as they go along but the Girl always tells them that those stories are the best, even though half the time not even Jet really knows what they’re saying. But, as always, it works wonders and she’s out like a light in just a few moments. 

Jet lets their latest sentence hang in the air- it’s not like they’re gonna remember half of the story in the morning- and makes sure the Girl’s tucked in before quietly heading back to the others.

“She out?” Poison calls quietly. 

They must have come back out while Jet was putting the kid to bed. Ghoul is perched proudly in their lap, grinning about something Jet knows better than to ask about. So they pretend they don’t notice anything and just plop down in a booth before answering.

“Yeah, thank th’ Witch.”

“I think she’s missed it here,” Kobra speaks up with a smirk. 

Jet snorts. “ Just a bit. I swear she was _tryin’_ ‘t eat th’ sand earlier.”

“Sand won’t hurt ‘er,” Ghoul chimes in, earning a light slap on his arm from Poison.

“Thank you,” Jet says, because if Poison hadn't hit him they would have. 

“What? If it was dangerous I’d been dead like _ages_ ago.”

“Just because _you_ can eat sand and not die doesn't mean the kid can,” Kobra mumbles loud enough for them all to hear.

Ghoul makes a squawking noise and jumps off Poison’s lap, but he’s smiling as he points a nubby finger across the room at Kobra. 

“You’re tellin’ me you never ate sand? In th’ _entire_ fuckin’ time we’ve lived in the desert. Not _once_?”

Kobra rolls his eyes but he turns his head to hide the smile pulling across his face. “Yuu’re th’ only one stupid enough ‘t try and eat th’ stuff.”

Ghoul huffs, clearly beaten at whatever game he was playing at. Poison makes eye contact with Jet from across the room, giving them a fond smile and shaking their head. Jet just nods. Truth is, they’ll take Kobra and Ghoul’s bickering any day over the alternative. The thought of what happened back in the City doesn’t leave as much of an ache in their chest as it did, it still stings yeah, but they know now that the City can’t hold them down. Not forever. 

Either the Four are extremely lucky or- Jet’s favorite theory- the Witch is looking after them. 

She must see something in them. Even as Ghoul tries to remember a time when Kobra ended up with a mouthful of sand and only succeeds in looking like he’s constipated. 

____________________________________

Kobra didn’t realize how much he’d missed home until now.

He’d been out of sorts in the Underground. It was both too crowded, and somehow too lonely at the same time. There wasn't much for him to do. No fights or concerts for him to occupy time with. There definitely wasn’t anything even _close_ to the Crash Tracks. 

He’d had fun there, yeah. Meeting the Youngbloods was probably the only reason he didn’t go insane while he was there. But he’d been so distracted by everything else that he hadn’t quite realized how much he missed home until his first night back. 

It’s just… so _different_. That’s the only way he can think to describe it. It’s such a hard left from the Underground that maybe that’s why he loves it so much. He can go outside and sit on the roof of the diner all night if he wants to. He’s done so the past three nights, spending all night staring up like nothing else in the world matters. 

Fuck how he’s missed the _stars_ , the pure openness of everything. It makes him feel tiny, like a speck of dust floating around in a beam of sunlight. But in a _good_ way.

You don’t get views like this in the Underground and even the chill to the air feels significantly like _home_.

It isn’t until the sun is only just beginning to rise that Kobra finally climbs down the ladder and enters the diner. Poison is surprisingly awake, sitting in a booth by the door with the radio on. They barely look up as he slides in beside them. On the radio, Doc’s talking about some poor soul who got snuck-up by a Drac last night. Kobra doesn't really pay attention until he hears Doc say it was a crew from the City. There’s only one crew from there that Doc could be talking about and it makes Kobra’s blood run cold. 

“ _Shit_.”

“I already talked to ‘em,” Poison says, sounding way too-calm. “Their call woke me up like an hour ago. It was just one Drac though and no one’s hurt.”

Kobra breathes out a sigh of relief. It’s not that he doesn’t think the Youngbloods can hold their own, more so that he doesn’t like the thought of them getting into a clap so soon. Not when there’s only two of them guaranteed to shoot back at whatever city pig is at their throats. 

“They took it out?” 

“Yeah,” Poison says. “But they’ve decided t’ go ahead ‘n meet up with the others in case more Dracs found where they were stayin’.”

Kobra nods, only a little upset that they won’t be able to visit them in a few days like they’d planned. 

“Makes sense. Are they on the road now?”

“Yeah. But, Kobra, I-” Poison pauses and pushes their hair out of their face. “Doc’s talking about the Dracs like _searching_ for something. They’re not just raidin’ random ‘joys they find. They’re poking their noses in anything that could be a hideout.”

“What do you think they’re looking for then?”

Maybe the City is pissed ‘cause everyone in the Underground got away? 

It makes sense. If they knew that the Youngbloods were still out there, then there’s no reason the City wouldn’t exhaust whatever resources they could to make sure they were found. 

But it’s not until Kobra realizes Poison still hasn’t answered that he _really_ takes a look at them. 

He can see it all over their face.

“Us.”

It's more of a statement than a question and Kobra doesn’t need Poison’s nod, but it doesn’t help either. 

“They’ve figured it out then?” Kobra continues under his breath.

“Either that or they were told.”

It’s the sharp way that they say it that causes Kobra to pause before he asks his next question carefully. 

“Told?” 

Poison finally looks up completely. Kobra’s all at once reminded of how they looked those first few days after they woke up. That same hollow sort of resignation is in their eyes now and it makes Kobra’s chest ache. 

“Whoever called Better Living down on th’ Underground must’ve also known _we_ were there. We weren’t exactly as careful about it as we should have been. I’m sure people figured it out.”

“But all it took,” Kobra continues for them. “Was the wrong person and…”

Poison nods but doesn’t say anything else. 

“Do the others know yet?” 

“No,” Poison says softly.

_Fuck_. 

How the hell are they going to tell the others? 

Things were only just starting to feel _normal_ again.

And sure, they should have expected something like this to happen. You can’t exactly hide from Better Living. Not forever. _Especially_ not when you have as much infamy as they do. But Kobra hates even thinking about being on the run again.

They’ve done it before, hopped around random places just to sleep until the next patrol got a little too close. Kobra’s lived that way too many times to count. It’s gonna be worse this time around. Especially now that it’s almost guaranteed that Korse knows they’re alive. Kobra dreads to think about Korse also figuring that Poison remembers what he did to them. 

“What’re we gonna do?” Kobra whispers.

He’s not… he’s not scared. That’s not the right word. But it’s more of… it’s like something’s been taken from him. Maybe it’s that easy sort of feeling that had come with being home again. With having to pick sand out of his socks and slathering Ghoul in sunscreen. But they haven't even had a chance to really _enjoy_ being home before Korse is back on their asses again. 

It fucking _pisses him off_ more than anything else. 

Why can’t they just go a few weeks without having to fight for their lives? There’s no _winning_. There’s no end. It’s just a continuous cycle and Kobra is _sick_ of it.

“We’re not gonna let them win,” Poison announces, seemingly having a similar train of thought.

There's a cocky smile on their face now. They’ve got a plan. 

“What’re you plannin’?”

Their smile grows. “They’re tryin’ to smoke us out. They don’t know for certain where we are. If we’re alive. So, we’re gonna make sure Korse doesn’t get the first hit.”

“How?”

“Wake up Girly for me, I’ll get Ghoul. I say we show the whole fuckin’ desert that we’re still kickin’.”

“Poison,” Kobra asks. “Are you sure?” 

They give him a more level look, less intense than they were a moment ago and more like his older sibling. 

“If we hit one of the patrols that’re scouring the area before they can find us, it’ll show everyone that we’re alive. And that we’re not sitting around idly. But we _have_ to get the high ground while we still can.”

Kobra finally nods. He wouldn’t say he _likes_ the thought of taking on a patrol but Poison’s plan is good. They have a point. If they don’t strike first, Korse’s goons _will_.

____________________________________________

It’s barely lunchtime by the time Poison’s parking the car just outside of the Market. 

They slam their door shut and pull their bandanna up over their nose. They’d rather not have to wear it but it helps keep the sand from irritating their throat. It also ensures that no one will be able to tell who they are until Poison _wants_ them too. 

They don’t want their big comeback to happen at the Market but they need to get some parts for Ghoul so he can make the explosive they’re going to use on the patrol. If they want to send those Dracs sky high, they have to deal with this first. 

The others are wearing similar things to hide their identities. Nothing too inconspicuous- they don’t want to be seen as neutrals- but also nothing that’d immediately peg them as The Four. If all goes well, they should be in and out in just a few hours. 

Poison leads them into the Market, weaving between tents and keeping their heads down until they find the one they were looking for. Ghoul can make just about anything explode if given enough time, but for a job like this he needs real heat. Shit that you can’t just make by connecting a battery to a wire. That’s where the owner of this tent comes in. 

Poison’s never caught their name, or even a good look at them, but they haven't kicked Ghoul out or given him defective shit so they must not be too bad. 

Ghoul slinks inside through the back of the tent, leaving the four of them to wait and stand guard. 

The Girl’s standing quietly next to Jet, eyes roaming over the tents and clearly excited. They wouldn’t have brought her on this run if they could have helped it. But Poison also hates the idea of leaving her home alone. 

They spent too long separated from her and, as long as they can help it, they’re going to make sure she’s never left alone like that again. 

As the minutes drag on, Poison can’t help the restlessness that begins to take them over. Ghoul is probably in the middle of the trade but Poison wishes they could rush him along. They don’t like standing out here in the open. If someone spots them, then this whole plan is gone to shit. 

Jet gives them a look over his sunglasses, telling them to cool it. But, at last, Ghoul comes out.

He’s grinning and opens his jacket before any of them can even ask if he got what he needed. Two carefully wrapped packages of gunpowder are tucked into the inside pockets and when he closes the vest again, it’s impossible to tell that they’re even there. 

“Let's get out of here,” Poison says, already leading them back the way they came. 

Kobra hangs back with Ghoul, the two of them talking just quiet enough for Poison to not be able to make out what they’re saying. The Girl convinces Jet to carry her back, not that it would ever take much convincing on any of their parts. 

But, as they round the end of the tents and their car comes into view, they notice that there’s already a crew standing around it.

Poison squints in the bright light but can’t make out who it is. They stop walking with a loud curse. The only thing they can make out is a shock of bright red hair, much like their own. It’s longer and cut differently, but there’s no doubt in their mind about who this is. 

“Mother _fucker_!” Poison pulls their gun and stalks over to Val Velocity. They don’t care about his crew. They don’t care what they were doing near the ‘AM, just that he was touching it and wearing _their_ fucking color. They’re going to fucking _ghost_ him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the cliff hanger!   
> Was gonnna have the next part in this chapter too but I think it's going to flow better as the beginning of the next chapter. Which should be out soon i promise. I've been trying to take my lunches at work and use them to get the basics of the chapter down before cleaning it up at home. So hopefully that system will work again this week.  
> Let me know what you think!


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